


Desiderium

by bronwe_iris



Series: If He Had Come AU [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games), Batman: Arkham - All Media Types
Genre: Arkham, Arkham Asylum, Arkham Knight, Arkham Verse, Batfamily Feels, Father and brother relationships, Gen, Sequel to my fanfic "If He Had Come", Some angst, Titan forumla, batfamily, cursing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-06-09 05:47:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 80,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6892564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bronwe_iris/pseuds/bronwe_iris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to my fanfic “If He Had Come.” It’s been over a year since Batman had rescued Jason Todd from his nine-month imprisonment by the Joker, and things seem to be looking up. Then the Joker begins dealing with something only known as Titan. This time the entire Batfamily is put to the test with not only Jason, but all of Gotham City, at stake. (AU of the Arkham Asylum and Arkham Knight video games.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I couldn’t resist. You guys were so wonderful last time on “If He Had Come,” and honestly you’re all the reason I was so inspired to write the sequel. I can’t guarantee I’ll upload chapters as fast as I did with the first story, but I’ll try!
> 
> Also, this isn’t a direct retelling of the video game Batman: Arkham Asylum. However, I will be incorporating elements from the game and kind of making a new-ish story with it, since I’ll be involving Jason and his fellow Robins into the story much more. We’ll see where this goes. ;)

A chill runs through the night air. Which may be surprisingly to some, as the day had been sweltering, and for once clouds had not obscured the majority of the Gotham sky. The sun had set not too long ago, and upon its disappearance the temperature seemed to drop at an oddly rapid rate. That’s how it always seems to be in Gotham. Dark coldness clings to her, no matter how hard those who live within her dangerous borders try to change that. Unfortunately, most people seem too busy making a living and staying alive to worry themselves with something as petty as hope.

Thus, the challenge of finding and spreading hope seems to fall upon the few masked legends that dwell within Gotham’s shadows.

Gabby is grateful that she wasn’t given a closing shift tonight. She has a paper due for her Film History class tomorrow, and the extra hours she now has to work on it are much welcomed. Nevertheless, darkness still is what she steps out into upon leaving the diner where she works, and the sight is not comforting to her. Tugging her purse higher up her shoulder, she straightens and begins walking in the direction of her apartment with a feigned air of confidence she doesn’t quite have at the moment.

She constantly looks around her as she walks, careful to keep her distance from the dim corners of the alleyways she passes in front of as she continues on. The distant sounds of cars roaring down a busier street leak through the buildings clustered together, only enhancing the fact that Gabby is very much alone on the street she is currently trekking along.

It’s when she turns the corner down a smaller street that she hears the footsteps. Whipping around, Gabby squints her eyes to peer into the shadows, desperately hoping that the sound had just been her imagination. She hears the sound of feet crunching on crumpled newspapers and shoves her hand into her purse, pulling out her pepper spray.

“Hello?” she asks. Trembling, she clears her throat and grips the pepper spray tightly, as though drawing courage from its touch. “I know you’re out there, so you may as well show yourself.”

“Gladly,” says a gravelly voice. A tall, bulky man steps around the corner of a building Gabby had just passed. Long hair frames his weathered face in greasy strands, and a sinister grin spreads across his mouth, showcasing yellow, uneven teeth.

Gabby swallows, raising her pepper spray. “Back off,” she says, her shaky voice betraying her fear. “I-I just want be left alone.”

The man’s grin turns into a sneer. “Aw, now that’s not nice. I just wanna see what you’ve got in that little purse of yours.” His eyes travel up and down Gabby’s body. “And maybe whatever else it is you’ve got hiding. Right, boys?”

“Course,” says a new voice, this time from the direction Gabby had been heading in.

Gabby’s twists around, her eyes widening as two new men emerge from the shadows. She whips the pepper spray around, switching her aim from one man to the next frantically. “Please,” she says. “Please don’t. Help! _Somebody – HELP!”_

The first man laughs. “This is Gotham, sweetheart. If anyone _does_ hear you, they ain’t coming.”

“Well gee, I wish somebody had told me that before I had started this whole vigilante thing.”

Everyone’s heads snap up in the direction the unexpected reply had come from. A large figure is swinging down directly towards them, presumably having jumped off from one of the overhanging roofs. Before anyone can react, the figure twists his body, throwing his booted feet forward and slamming them hard into the chest of one of the surprised thugs. The man goes flying into a brick wall, striking his head and slumping to the ground unconscious; at the same moment, the new figure drops to the ground with a hard thud.

The figure straightens and Gabby, unsure whether or not to be afraid, finds that all she can do is stare. Along with combat boots, the man (Gabby assumes it’s a male) wears red and gray camo pants and a leather jacket covered in some kind of armor. But most odd of all is a red and silver helmet completely covering his head, decorated with what looks like two short... _bat ears_ running along the sides of it.

The two other thugs rush at the man, one pulling out a knife and the other a gun. The man with the gun immediately fires, but the masked figure easily dodges the bullet; lunging, the figure crouches low and slams his elbow into the thug’s gut. The armed man grunts in pain, stumbling backwards. The other thug throws himself forward, swiping his knife at the masked man. But the man twists out of the blade’s range, simultaneously bringing his hand up to knock the knife holder’s outstretched arm up into the air. The masked man then delivers a hard punch to the thug’s gut, doubling him over.

The man turns back to the other thug, who has raised his gun once again. Another shot sounds off, but the masked man had moved out of the bullet’s range before the thug had even finished pulling the trigger, giving the him plenty of time to lurch out of harm’s way. His movements impossibly quick, the masked man then pulls out something similar to what Gabby would assume a Batarang to look like. The Batarang flies at the armed man, knocking the gun from his grip.

The masked figure jerks around and grabs the wrist of the now recovered man still clutching the knife, jerking it back viciously. There’s a snapping sound, and the thug cries out in agony, dropping the blade and clutching his broken wrist to his chest. The man who had lost his gun once more runs forward, but the other man easily deflects the thrown punches. He shoves the heel of his gloved palm into the thug’s jaw, snapping his head back. The thug crumples to the ground, and at the same moment the masked man spins, kicking out the legs from beneath the man with the broken wrist. The thug falls, joining the other two men on the ground.

Immediately the masked figure pulls out three sets of handcuffs. In a matter of seconds he has the dazed men secured to a water pipe running alongside one of the buildings bordering the narrow street. He presses a sequence of buttons on his gauntlet, then turns to Gabby.

Gabby takes a step back, still clutching her pepper spray.

“Are you alright?” the man asks. His voice is filtered slightly through the mask, but not enough for Gabby not to be able to tell that the person speaking _is_ in fact a man, and a young one from what she can guess.

Breathing heavily, Gabby nods shakily. “Y-yes,” she sputters. She looks up and down the man’s outfit. “Are…you’re not Batman, are you?”

“Hardly,” the man answers. There’s a touch of cockiness to the voice. The man glances down at the three thugs, who are starting to shift as they become more cognizant. “Commissioner Gordon and his men should be here soon, so this scum won’t be bothering you – or anyone else – again. Isn’t that right, boys?” Crouching, the man grabs the jaw of the thug who had been holding the gun. His grip tightens, and the thug winces in pain. “Or you’ll all be _very_ sorry you ever bothered to step foot in Gotham.” The masked man looks over at the discarded gun lying on the ground not three feet from when he’s kneeling. Reaching out, he picks it up and turns it over, inspecting it. Then he presses it to the thug’s jaw, forcing the man’s face upwards. “Maybe I should just pull the trigger,” he hisses. “Relieve this godforsaken city of three worthless pieces of shit. It won’t make much of a difference in the grand scheme of things, but I’m sure any future victims of yours would be grateful.” The thug doesn’t answer, keeping his eyes focused on the far wall. The masked man shoves the thug’s face away in disgust and stands, turning back to Gabby.

A tense moment of silence passes.

“Do you need me to take you home?” he finally asks.

“No,” Gabby says quickly. “No…” Her gaze flickers down to the gun in the man’s hand. Seemingly unconcerned, the man ejects the gun’s magazine and tosses both it and the empty weapon to the ground for Commissioner Gordon to pick up for evidence. Gabby swallows. “It’s not that I’m not grateful…but…”

“I understand,” the man says. “Just be careful, okay?”

Gabby nods. “K.” She begins to turn away but stops, looking up into the red and silver mask. “Thank you,” she says. She hesitates. “Who are you?”

The man studies her for a moment. “The Gotham Knight.” Perhaps it’s the confidence, or the tinge of pride in his voice, but somehow the name seems to carry a sense of heavy importance to it as it’s spoken.

Before Gabby can reply, the Gotham Knight pulls out a grappling hook and shoots it at a nearby roof. A second later he’s launching into the air and over the edge of the building top, out of sight. Gabby stands there for a minute, staring. Then she shakes her head and turns away, hurrying down the street.

Less than five minutes later, she’s rushing up the outside steps to her apartment complex. As she fumbles with her keys a chill runs down her spine. Gabby glances back over her shoulder, and for the tiniest instant she is sure she spots what looks to be a helmeted figure crouching on the nearby rooftop, watching her. But when she looks harder, there’s nothing to see. Frowning, Gabby finally gets the door unlocked and goes inside, wondering who on earth her savior had been.

/

It’s nearly five in the morning when Jason pulls his motorcycle into the Batcave. The Batmobile has already been parked, and only one person is there to greet Jason as he walks up to the massive computer monitors hanging from the cave’s far wall.

Still in his Robin uniform, Tim slowly turns his chair around at the sound of Jason’s approaching footsteps. He blinks wearily in Jason’s direction, clutching a coffee mug. “Sup,” he mumbles. “You were out forever.”

Jason pulls the helmet from his head. “Looks like it’s past your bedtime,” he jokes.

Tim tosses what he, in his drowsy state, probably thinks is a biting glare in Jason’s direction. “Shut up.”

Smirking, Jason looks up at the multiple open pages displayed on the screens looming over them. “What are you working on?”

“A few leads Bruce and I picked up tonight,” Tim answers. He stretches his arms, yawning. “Bruce already went to bed. Well, he _said_ he was going to bed, but he’s probably just working in the study or something.”

“Maybe you should go to bed too,” says Jason, watching Tim’s eyes drift close momentarily before snapping back open. “It’s been a long night.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tim mutters, waving his hand absently. “Just promise me _you’ll_ be the one making waffles for breakfast…lunch…whatever, later today. You’re much better at it; Alfred’s were _awful_ last time.”

Jason chuckles. “The one thing he can’t cook. And yet he’s always so proud of them.” Jason lets out a yawn of his own and sets his helmet down on the computer desk. “Sure, fine.” He begins peeling off the outer layer of his armor, groaning with exhaustion. “Just go to bed.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Tim mumbles, pushing himself out of his chair and stumbling towards his personal elevator. He waves drowsily in Jason’s direction before entering the elevator; the doors close and Tim is sent upwards into his bedroom, leaving Jason to himself.

Sighing, Jason drops into the chair Tim had been sitting in. He shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it over the chair’s armrest as he pulls himself closer to the computer desk. Moving Tim’s work onto the farthest right screen, Jason open up a new internet page. In seconds he’s hacked into Arkham Asylum’s private patient files.

His hands tremble slightly as he types into the name search bar.

_The Joker._

The patient file comes up instantly. Jason ignores the information he’s memorized a hundred times over, instead focusing on the words following “status” at the top of the page.

_STATUS: Incarcerated and undergoing mental treatment_

The tightening Jason hadn’t even realized had taken hold of his chest releases, and Jason lets out a low breath, leaning back against the chair. _He’s still there. He hasn’t escaped yet._ Jason runs a hand through his hair, breathing deeply. He drops his hand, and it brushes against the long-healed scar on his left cheek. His fingers trace the curve of the letter and he sobers, his expression hardening at the memories that once again poke the edges of his mind. Jason drops his hands to the keyboards, typing once again.

_Harleen Quinzel._

The computer takes less than a second to pull up the new page.

_STATUS: Location currently unknown_

Jason frowns, though he’s not surprised. If Harley had been recaptured, he would have heard about it long before the information was put into Arkham’s files. A sigh escapes Jason as he closes the internet tab. He rubs a hand across his forehead, his eyelids drooping in sudden weariness. Standing, Jason gathers up his Gotham Knight armor and heads towards his elevator, knowing that – as usual – he probably won’t be getting a lot of sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

“Seriously Jason – you’re the best,” Tim mumbles through the chunks of red velvet waffles rolling around in his mouth.

Jason smirks, looking pleased with himself as he tosses two more waffles onto the already massive pile stacked in the center of the kitchen counter. It’s almost eleven in the morning, but Tim had woken up only twenty minutes ago; immediately he had sought out Jason and began pestering him about the promised brunch. Having a lot less luck with his sleep, Jason readily agreed – anything to distract him from the dark thoughts once again bombarding his mind.

The two boys had offered to share the brunch with Alfred, but the butler had politely refused, looking rather mortified at the red velvet waffles lathered in cream cheese frosting. Bruce had taken one look at the mess in the kitchen before walking back out without a word. That was all perfectly fine with Tim and Jason – more for them.

“You probably shouldn’t eat _all_ of the waffles, Tim,” says Jason. “Unless you _want_ to throw up on whatever criminals you and Batman plan on punching out tonight.”

Tim laughs. “I feel as though that tactic would be more effective in convincing them to abandon a life of crime than anything else I could do to them, don’t you think?”

Scraping the bottom of the mixing bowl for the last of the batter, Jason grins. “It’d convince me, that’s for sure.”

“Whatever the tactic, I’d appreciate it if you strived to come home at an earlier time tonight, Master Timothy,” Alfred says, pushing his way through the kitchen’s swinging door. “Tomorrow is a school day, and I won’t have you missing your morning classes again.”

“I don’t see why _I_ still have to go to school and Jason doesn’t,” says Tim, waving his fork in Jason’s direction.

Jason takes a large bite of his waffle. “I’m eighteen, Timbers. I don’t have to go to school if I don’t want to.” A cocky smile spreads across his lips. “Besides, I’ve taught myself far better than those jokes at any public school could.”

“But you wouldn’t go to a public school,” Tim points out. “You know we go to –”

“Those stuffy private schools?” Jason grimaces, then shrugs. “Still can teach myself everything I need to know.”

Alfred raises an eyebrow, disapproval flickering in his eyes. “Master Jason, I am aware that neither myself nor Master Bruce can force you to do anything you do not wish. However,” he continues, picking up a washrag from the kitchen sink and wiping at the batter powder covering the countertop. “I do agree with Master Timothy in his belief that having a completed formal education would be beneficial to you.”

“Yes, yes,” Jason says, waving his hand. Dropping the waffle to his plate, he plucks the washrag from Alfred’s hand and begins scrubbing at the counter tiles himself. “You and Bruce have both given me this talk multiple times, Alfred. Maybe, okay? Maybe someday. But not now, not yet.”

Tim’s eyes flash to Jason’s cheek for the slightest instant. The thought of Jason’s scars being one of the contributing factors to his opposition to going back to school has crossed Tim’s mind multiple times. Of course, he never asks Jason about it – trying to talk to Jason about anything relating to his scars is impossible. Jason will immediately shut the conversation down, and often times he’ll disappear for hours after, managing to avoid both Tim and Bruce’s frantic searching. There are many places Jason will go after such confrontations, the most common being Mercy Bridge. He never goes to Gotham High’s baseball field anymore.

Tim shakes his head, clearing his thoughts and focusing back to where Jason currently stands in the kitchen. Watching Jason with a solemn gaze, Alfred gives the older boy a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Very well.” His voice takes on a more cheerful tone when he speaks next. “I have some other news for you two, though.”

“Yeah?” Tim asks brightly.

Alfred gives a rather smug-looking smile. The rare expression sends a jolt of nervousness through Jason and Tim, who glance at each other.

“Wayne Enterprises is putting on a charity event next week,” says Alfred. “Volunteers will be going to The Thomas and Martha Wayne Home for Foster Children and spending the afternoon there, doing a variety of activities with the children. And Bruce Wayne’s adopted sons are leading the event.”

“What?” Jason and Tim exclaim simultaneously.

“Hold on there, Alfred,” Jason says, dropping the washrag to the counter. “I don’t think –”

“There will be no arguing about the matter,” interrupts Alfred. “You boys need to involve yourself more in these types of things.”

“Don’t we already do enough helping of Gotham?” Tim argues. “At night?” Jason nods his agreement vigorously.

Alfred frowns. “The people of Gotham do not know it is you doing that. This is a chance for you to do some good for Gotham, as Jason Todd and Tim Drake. Do not worry yourselves – Master Dick will be joining you. And I must say, he was much more gracious about the idea than you two.”

Jason moans, pressing a waffle batter-encrusted hand to his forehead. “Fantastic. Whose idea was this anyway? Bruce’s?”

Alfred begins walking towards the kitchen door. “No. It was mine.” Jason and Tim’s mouths drop open, but Alfred ignores them. “Finish your meal, you two. And I expect this mess cleaned up within a quarter of an hour, Master Jason.”

The door swings shut, leaving two flabbergasted boys to stare at each other over a pile of waffles.

/

There are some days Dr. Penelope Young absolutely _hates_ working at Arkham Asylum. This is one of them.

Water drips from a leaky pipe above her head, splatting onto the cold floor and pooling at her feet. The room she is in is dim, as two of the six overhanging lights have burnt out; no one has bothered to change them for months now. Scum and dirt cover the walls, showcasing years of neglect.

The computers Dr. Young are currently working on are of high quality though. That’s because she has had them brought into this room by her own personal request. Their bright screens and smooth plastic coverings contrast starkly with their surroundings, only amplifying the grimness of the place. Frowning, Dr. Young keeps her eyes glued to the main computer monitor as she types.

“Look at me, bruja…”

The strained whisper sends a chill down Dr. Young’s spine. The voice is still instantly recognizable to anyone who’s heard it before, though now it has become cracked and worn – a ghost of the powerful thing it once had been. Stiffening, Dr. Young continues to type.

“Cobarde…” comes the withered hiss.

Straightening her shoulders, Dr. Young finally lifts her gaze to match it with that of the person hanging from the wall in front of her.

If he can even be called a person anymore.

He is hardly more than skin and bones; tubes run out of multiple areas of his body, fanning out in different directions like the legs of a spider. Discolored skin hangs from his limbs, looking as though even the slightest touch would break it open and spill whatever blood is left within. Which would not be much. Every breath he takes is hoarse and faint, and his bloodshot eyes are barely able to focus.

“You are doing science a great service, Bane,” Dr. Young says, struggling to keep her voice calm. “This is a necessary sacrifice.”

“You will…regret this…” wheezes Banes, his voice barely audible.

Dr. Young presses her lips together, hoping that her discomfort is not obvious. “I’ve come so far. I need you for this.” She doesn’t seem to be talking to Bane though – rather, the words seem to be a feeble attempt at justifying her own actions. Dr. Young swallows. “If it’s worth anything…I am sorry.”

His eyes burning with hatred, Bane spits weakly onto the floor between him and Dr. Young.

Dr. Young stares at Bane’s shriveled form for a second longer, and then drops her gaze back to the computer screen. “Computer – begin record of today’s procedure.” Trying to ignore the twisting feeling in her gut, Dr. Young types in a new command into the keyboard. “Continuation of the Titan experiment. Subject is still responsive to tests and stimulation. Subject has passed his routine checkup and has been deemed stable enough to have another sample be taken today.” She takes a deep breath. “I will begin.”

/

After cleaning the kitchen, Jason goes down to the Batcave to find Bruce deeply immersed in work at the hologram table. The image of a new model for the Batplane’s thrust reverser system hovers over the glass, which Bruce critically studies, adjusting parts here and there as he types notes into a small tablet. He doesn’t bother to look up as Jason approaches, keeping his eyes focused on the project.

Stalking over to the table, Jason smacks the top button that reverts the holographic image back into the translucent surface. Bruce frowns and finally raises his eyes, his fingers still hovering over the tablet.

“Yes?” he grunts.

“You had Barbara track me again last night,” accuses Jason. “After I asked you to _not_ do that. And don’t bother denying it; as good as Barbara is, my equipment is still able to pick her up.” Jason gives a frustrated huff. “I’m eighteen years old, Bruce – I don’t need a babysitter.”

Bruce’s frown deepens. “We’re only looking out for you.”

“I don’t need looking out for,” Jason says. “I can take care of myself. You should know that – _you_ trained me.” Jason gives the hologram table a hard rap with his knuckles. “Look, I did as you asked, and I hung around you and Tim for the first month I was the Gotham Knight. Even though three’s a crowd and we probably looked like idiots, nearly tripping over each other as we took out petty car thieves. But I’ve been out there for over three months now, and I think I deserve some benefit of the doubt that I can handle this whole crime fighting thing without you or Barbara breathing down my neck.”

“I have no doubt that you can handle the demands of the job,” Bruce says. “I just want to be sure you are taking all the necessary precautions while out there.”

“Of course I am,” snaps Jason, his offense obvious.

Bruce purses his lips, and he seems to brace himself as he speaks. “I know you _think_ you are Jason, but…you can be rather reckless at times. Before your…capture…”

Jason grits his teeth.

“And even now, after.”

“So that’s what this is, then?” Jason grinds out. “You think I’m still that stupid child who got himself caught? You think I haven’t _learned_ from that, Bruce?”

“Have you?” Bruce asks.

Fury burns in Jason’s eyes. “You really are a piece of work.” Clenching his fists, Jason spins around on his heel and walks back towards the elevators. “If I catch you or Barbara watching me again, I’ll disable my tracking device.”

The moment the elevator doors close, Bruce lets out a tired sigh and rubs a hand across his forehead. Abandoning the thrust reverser, Bruce instead pulls up the model for the latest tracer he currently has everyone wearing in their suits. Immediately he begins examining it, determined to have an updated version by the end of the week that Jason’s equipment won’t be able to detect.

Despite himself, Bruce can’t deny the twinge of anxiety that had sprung up within him at Jason’s threat. _Jason wouldn’t be that arrogant and stupid_ , Bruce tells himself. _Disabling his tracking device before he had gone after the Joker last time had been his biggest mistake – and he knows it._ But when Jason gets angry enough, it can be hard to predict what his next move will be.

And Jason is smart. It’s only a matter of time before he finds the second tracer Bruce had secretly installed into Jason’s helmet. Bruce frowns at the hologram, a sudden sense of urgency gripping him as he begins to update the current model. He’ll put this new tracer into Jason’s suit by the end of the weekend, damn the consequences if Jason finds out.

Which he won’t.

He _can’t_.

/

The heavy thud of leather being stricken echoes throughout the training room, giving sound to Jason’s rage as he hits a punching bag over and over. Sweat runs down his brow, dripping into the corners of his eyes, but he doesn’t bother to wipe the moisture away. All he focuses on is the satisfying sound of his fists connecting with the solid material.

_He still doesn’t trust me._

The thought burns in Jason’s mind as he twists, delivering a sharp kick to the punching bag. The bag flies outwards and swings back in to meet another one of Jason’s punches. Gritting his teeth, Jason continues his attack, his breath getting more ragged as he works off his anger.

“Careful there, you might break something.”

Snarling, Jason spins around, throwing his leg out towards the sudden voice. Tim easily blocks the kick and retaliates with a thrust of his hand, but Jason knocks it aside with little effort.

“What do you want, Tim?” snaps Jason.

“I could almost smell your anger down the hall, so I thought I’d come to offer myself as your personal rage outlet,” Tim answers. He lunges forward, ducking a punch and jabbing his elbow into Jason’s stomach. Jason grunts and stumbles backwards, but he regains his balance just in time and flips backwards over a pile of weights; a moment’s hesitation and he would’ve crashed right into them.

“Nice,” Tim comments, watching Jason land on a stack of yoga mats placed behind the weights.

Jason doesn’t reply. Instead, he launches into the air and grabs onto a pair of hanging rings, using them to flip himself onto the other side of Tim.

“I’m guessing Bruce is the cause of your little temper tantrum?” Tim asks. Jason picks up a sandbag and chucks it directly at Tim, but Tim jumps into the air out of harm’s way, kicking the sandbag down as he flies over it. “I mean, Bruce always seems to know _exactly_ the right thing to say.”

Jason grits his teeth, bracing himself as Tim rushes towards him. “He’s just –” Jason begins, blocking another punch from Tim. “He’s so…”

“Frustrating? Lacking in any ability to hold a normal conversation?”

Jason knocks away another one of Tim’s kicks. “Something like that.”

Tim throws himself to the left and gives a hard push to the punching bag Jason had been using. The bag swings out and slams into Jason, who is knocked onto his back with a loud thud. Tim snorts and struts over to Jason’s side. “So do you wanna tell me what our brilliant detective said to piss you off?”

“No,” Jason grumbles. “I don’t.” Jason suddenly whips his foot out, kicking Tim’s legs out from beneath him; with a cry of surprise, Tim crashes to the floor mat. Groaning, Tim rolls over beside Jason, but neither of the boys bother to get up.

A few minutes pass, with both of them staring up at the ceiling of the training room. Finally, a low sigh escapes Jason. “He…doesn’t trust me.”

Tim sits up, bending his legs and wrapping his arms around them as he leans forward to look down at Jason. “What do you mean?”

Jason shrugs, linking his hands so that they’re lying on top his chest. “He and Barbara still watch me through their stupid tracking equipment when I go out as the Gotham Knight. And I guarantee you Bruce has other tracers on my suit I haven’t found yet. It’s so… _insulting_. I mean, Dick was younger than I am now when he went out on his own. And Bruce didn’t follow _him_ everywhere.”

Sympathy flashes in Tim’s eyes as he rests his chin on his knees. “He just worries about you, Jason.”

“He’s waiting for me to screw up again,” Jason corrects. “With a tracer, it’ll be easier to save my stupid ass next time.”

Tim bites his lip. “We all have tracers, Jason – it’s standard. It’s Bruce’s way of looking out for us.”

A frown slips onto Jason’s mouth. “It’s his way of keeping us in line.”

“Jason…”

Jason sits up, waving his hand. “Yeah, yeah. I just…I wish he’d let me do my own thing.” He fidgets with the sleeve of his shirt. “Maybe I should do what Dick did – go off on my own, settle into a new city.”

Tim shuffles his feet, suddenly looking a bit apprehensive. “You don’t need to leave to prove yourself to Bruce,” he says quietly. “Gotham needs more than just Batman and Robin to protect it.”

Jason shrugs. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ve just finally worn out my welcome here at Wayne Manor.”

Tim’s lips press together at that. “You know that’s not true, Jason.” Jason doesn’t say anything, and Tim lets out a sigh. “Just don’t do anything rash, okay? And…keep your tracer on.” He pauses. “Or Bruce will make it hell for everyone by loading us down with a bazillion more of them.”

Jason doesn’t answer; pushing himself to his feet, he silently makes his way out of the training room. By the time Tim gets up to follow, Jason is already in the shower, where he stays for the next thirty minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking at the video games and current comics, I’m not sure which of the Robins Bruce has officially adopted in the New 52, if any at all. Since my story is an AU, I’m making it that he has officially adopted Dick, Jason, and Tim. However, the boys all keep their original last names. Because reasons I guess.
> 
> (also, “Timbers” is not a nickname I made up. It’s canon; Jason has sarcastically called Tim it in the comics lol)


	3. Chapter 3

“Tim?”

At the sound of the voice and accompanying knock, Tim looks up from where he’s sitting on his bed. He shifts the laptop propped up on his legs, glancing at the clutter of papers and books surrounding him. “Uh…yeah, come in.”

The door to Tim’s bedroom creaks open and Jason steps in, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him as he enters. “Just came to tell you Alfred says it’s time for dinner.”

“Thanks, Jason,” Tim says, keeping his eyes focused on his laptop as he types something. “Be down in a sec.”

Jason walks over to Tim’s bedside, staring down at the mess with raised eyebrows. “What the hell are you working on?”

“It’s this thing called homework,” replies Tim. “You wouldn’t know, since you’re far too superior for it.”

“Ha ha,” mutters Jason, pushing aside a stack of textbooks to make room on Tim’s bed to sit. Tim ignores Jason, continuing to type away at what looks to be a very long intro paragraph to some sort of research paper. Not bothered by the lack of attention, Jason begins shuffling through the piles, skimming over the various loose papers and prodding open the covers to different books. He reaches out, plucking a small red notebook from the pile. Eyeing it curiously, Jason flips it open.

“ _Dēlitīscō_ ,” Jason reads, squinting at Tim’s messy scrawls. “ _To hide away, conceal_.” He turns the page. “ _L'appel du vide. The call of the void_.” Jason looks up. “What is this?”

Tim taps his keyboard, keeping his eyes on the laptop screen. “Definitions.”

“No shit,” says Jason. “I mean, why do you have a notebook filled with random definitions?”

 “I’ve always had it.” Tim pauses, glancing down at the notebook. “My dad and I started it years ago. It was his idea. He thought it’d be good for me to expand my vocabulary, and so he made up this kind of challenge. Every week he and I would search for a new word. It could be in any language, but it had to be something unique – something with deep meaning behind it. At the end of the week we’d compare words, and whoever’s was better was written down in the notebook.” Tim grows quiet, and his tone is much more solemn when he speaks next. “After he…died, I didn’t touch the notebook for a long time.” He runs his hand along the side of his laptop. “It was only after you and I talked in the greenhouse a week after we had met that I started writing in it again.”

Jason stares at Tim. “Really?”

Tim just shrugs.

Jason looks back down at the open notebook, suddenly holding it with much more care. Not sure what to say, Jason continues to thumb through it. Minutes pass in silence, with Jason reading and Tim reverting his gaze back to his laptop screen, though he doesn’t bother to type anything else.

“Master Tim? Master Jason?”

Tim and Jason turn their heads in unison as the bedroom door is pushed open and a rather disgruntled-looking Alfred peaks his head in. “My goodness, with how long it’s taken Master Jason to deliver news of dinner, I had assumed you had both taken ill.”

“Is that a joke, Alfred?” Jason asks, grinning.

“It’s a declaration of your lack of punctuality,” replies Alfred. “Now hurry downstairs. Master Bruce is there already, and I’m afraid if I don’t serve dinner within the next five minutes he’ll slip back into his blasted cave for the remainder of the night without having had even a morsel to eat.”

“What’s sad is that he’s right,” Jason says, glancing over at Tim. Tim smiles, though a hint of the soberness that had encompassed him before still lingers in his eyes. Jason sets the notebook down and lightly smacks Tim’s arm. “Come on. I’m starving, and if you don’t come down, I’ll have to give Bruce the silent treatment all on my own.”

A soft laugh escapes Tim. “Well, I can’t let that happen,” he says, swinging his legs over the mess and onto the floor.

Alfred steps back, holding the door open as the two boys file out of the room and head towards the staircase, their stomachs suddenly growling loudly at the promise of food. Shaking his head, a small smile slips onto Alfred’s mouth as he follows them downstairs.

/

Later that night, Jason and Tim sprawl themselves out on the couch in the living room, a giant bowl of popcorn wedged in between them as they watch the news.

“This isn’t exactly popcorn-worthy entertainment, Tim,” comments Jason, tossing a piece into the air and trying to catch it with his mouth. It hits his nose and bounces off, disappearing into the couch cushions. “I thought we were gonna watch Bruce Willis punch out actors with fake German accents.”

“Okay, first off, Alan Rickman is legendary as Hans Gruber,” replies Tim. “And second, the news is important. It’s kind of a big deal for _us_ especially to keep up with it. We’re only watching for half an hour, and then we’ll put in the movie. Now shush.”

Jason kicks at Tim’s leg, knocking it from the ottoman in front of them. Tim throws Jason a sideways glare, but quickly reverts his attention back to the television where a news reporter reads from the unseen teleprompter.

“– earlier this morning a young college couple had been attacked while leaving their dorm building at Gotham University. The victims, a twenty year old man and a nineteen year old woman, had both been shot by the attacker; unfortunately, the man had died on the way to the hospital. The woman, now at Gotham General Hospital, is still in critical condition. The attacker has been identified as Scott Lyndon, a man who had been released from Blackgate Penitentiary one month ago after serving a five-year sentence for aggravated assault and robbery charges. GCPD had apprehended Lyndon after he had tried to rob a convenience store three miles from Gotham University’s campus.”

Jason frowns as the news report is read. No longer very hungry, he shoves the bowl of popcorn away. “More violence enacted by supposed ‘reformed’ criminals. What a surprise,” he mutters. “This ‘justice’ system is such a fucking joke.”

Grimacing, Tim lowers the volume of the TV. He glances at Jason nervously, wanting to say something but knowing it will only fire Jason up even more. And he really isn’t up for that at the moment. “Let’s just put in the movie,” sighs Tim. Before Jason can say anything, Tim gets up and grabs the movie case from a nearby end table.

Jason’s tension seems to ebb as the movie plays, but even after it’s done and they get up to go change into their uniforms, Jason stays quiet. His frustration remains noticeable to Tim, who is at a complete loss as how to argue his and Bruce’s side of this seemingly never ending disagreement with Jason.

/

“Miranda! I told you to stay on the corner of Fourth Ave and Redwood. Is that so fucking hard to do? Is that such a difficult thing to remember?”

The Gotham Knight turns his head towards where the sudden shout had come from, leaning forward from his perch on the rooftop of a nightclub. Below on the sidewalk a tall, beefy man walks up to a girl in a skimpy red dress and sparkling gold heels.

“I-I’m sorry, Danny,” the girl stammers, taking a step back. “I just…this guy kept harassing me, and he wasn’t gonna pay, so…”

“So you thought you’d walk off on your own, away from the spot I _assigned_ you?” the man asks. He gives the girl a rough shove, who stumbles into a light pole. She grabs onto it to steady herself, her eyes wide with fear as Danny steps closer.

“I don’t know why I bother with fucking dumbasses like you,” he spits. “There are plenty of other bitches to take your place. And probably better looking. Maybe I should just dispose of you myself, like the worthless piece of trash you are.”

“Danny…p-please –”

A loud smack echoes up the brick walls as Danny slaps Miranda hard across the face. “Stop your whimpering! All you fucking do is whine and cry and cost me money!” He gives her another shove; this time Mariana trips over the uneven sidewalk. She crashes to the ground and immediately begins scooting away from the advancing man.

“Danny –”

“Oh shut _up_ , you worthless bitch!” Danny raises his arm once again, but before he can bring it down, something comes whirling through the air, impaling itself into the back of his hand. An agonized scream escapes Danny and he stumbles into the light pole, clutching his bleeding hand with wide eyes. Blood runs freely down his arm, and Danny looks up to see a dark figure flying directly towards him.

Booted feet slam into Danny’s chest, and the man is knocked away from the light pole. He stumbles backwards a few feet before tripping over the curb and falling into the deserted street. The new figure lands on the ground in front of him and straightens, advancing towards him slowly.

“B-Batman?” Danny sputters, staring at the red helmet with wide eyes.

“Don’t you wish,” snarls the Gotham Knight. He reaches down with a gloved hand and wraps it in the front of Danny’s suit, pulling the frightened man upright. “You like beating on defenseless women?” the Knight hisses. He throws Danny to the ground, who hits the asphalt with a pained grunt. Sitting up, Danny once more clutches his injured hand as he crawls away from the masked figure. But his attacker gives him a swift kick to the side, flipping him over into a muddy puddle in the street. “You like cheating them out of their rightfully earned money, their dignity, and their free will?”

The Knight knocks Danny onto his back and holds him in place with a heavy boot. He leans forward and yanks the Batarang from Danny’s hand, prompting anther pained cry from the man. The Knight lifts the Batarang to Danny’s neck and presses its sharp edge against Danny’s sweat-soaked skin. “You’re a piece of shit, Daniel O’Leary. You are no better than the dirt I walk on, and I don’t believe there is one person on this earth who would be sad to see you go.” The pressure increases on the Batarang, and a drop of blood dribbles out from beneath it.

“P-please…” Danny whimpers.

“How many times had you ignored that exact plea from countless women?” asks the Gotham Knight. “You showed them no mercy; neither will I.”

“Gotham Knight. That’s enough.”

The Gotham Knight snaps his head up to watch a familiar figure step into a pool of light provided by the overhanging streetlight.

“Knight,” Nightwing repeats. “Stop. He won’t be hurting anyone else.”

The Knight stares at Nightwing for a long second, the rage coming off of him palpable. He emits a low growl and then spins back to Danny, swinging his fist directly at the man’s face. The punch connects with Danny’s jaw and his head is thrown backwards, striking the street and immediately rendering Danny unconscious.

“What the hell are you doing here?” the Knight demands, stepping away from the limp body.

Nightwing stares at Danny, the unease evident on his face despite his mask. “I thought you knew. The ‘event’ you, Robin, and I have coming up.” He turns his gaze to the Gotham Knight. “I figured I’d get here early.”

The Knight nods. “Yeah, I know about it,” he grunts. He looks back to where Miranda had been, but she’s gone. The Knight glares at Nightwing, even though he knows his expression is unreadable behind the helmet. “Let me guess, you used Batman’s little tracers to locate me? Did Daddy Bats ask you to watch me?” He shoves the Batarang back into his belt. “You know, I’m really fucking sick of being followed around by everyone.”

“Actually, I’m just really good at what I do – like finding people,” says Nightwing. “I thought I’d drop by tonight instead of tomorrow morning. Looks like I came just in time.” He crosses his arms. “Do you always threaten to slice open criminals’ throats before leaving them for Gordon? Or was this just a one-time thing?”

“I really don’t feel like dealing with your crap right now, Nightwing,” the Knight sneers. He turns away and begins pulling out a grappling hook.

“Knight,” Nightwing says. “Can we talk? Please?”

The Gotham Knight pauses, his hand resting against the grappling hook on his belt. Then he unhooks it and shoots it upwards, launching himself towards the rooftop of the nightclub. Sighing, Nightwing follows.

/

“Look, Jason, I know I had promised to be around Wayne Manor more, but it’s just been really crazy in Blüdhaven lately. I simply haven’t had the time.”

Jason drums his fingers against the top of his helmet, which rests in his lap. “Yeah, I know.” He gives a bitter laugh. “After all, how many times had I heard that exact same excuse when I had been Robin?”

Dick rubs the back of his neck, grimacing. “I…I know. But I’m trying. It’s just…there’s a lot on my plate right now.”

Jason just nods.

The two of them are sitting on the edge of an apartment building rooftop, their legs dangling over the side as they stare out over the busy streets thirty levels below. A light breeze brushes against them, bringing some comfort to Jason, whose heart is still pounding with leftover rage clinging to him from his confrontation with Daniel O’Leary.

Dick looks over at Jason, studying him with an apprehensive air. “Jason, what’s going on? I’ve never seen you act like that before. I mean, I’ve seen you get angry with criminals, and I _totally_ get that, but…not like what had just happened. That…that’s not okay.”

“Not _okay?”_ Jason repeats, staring at Dick. “Are you kidding me, Dick? I’ve been watching O’Leary for a while now, and I _promise_ you, his multiple trips to Blackgate have not changed him. These criminals…they have no respect for the law, for rules, or for other people’s lives. They will _never_ reform, they will _never_ repent.”

“Even if that is true, it doesn’t matter,” says Dick. “We still have to treat them –”

“As what, _humans?_ Dick, that’s not what they are. _Humans_ don’t hurt other people simply for their pleasure or personal profit. Humans don’t do the things that these scumbags do. These criminals – they’re _animals_. They lie, steal, kill – whatever it takes to accomplish their sick goals. And our justice system is so screwed up that there will always be the ones who slip right through it and get back out onto the streets.”

“That doesn’t matter, Jason. We still have to show them that we are better than that. We –”

“Save the self-righteous speech for someone who actually cares,” cuts in Jason.

Dick frowns. “Jason, I just…I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret.”

There’s a beat of silence. Jason presses his lips together, staring down at the interweaving cars below them. “Sometimes you need to do things you’ll regret,” he finally says, his voice unexpectedly soft. “If it’s the only way to help others.”

His expression pained, Dick lays a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “Killing them won’t stop crime.”

“You don’t know that,” Jason says quietly.

Dick’s grip on Jason’s shoulder tightens; not in warning, but in a way meant to be comforting. Surprisingly, Jason’s tension seems to ease a bit beneath Dick’s touch. They stay like that for a few minutes, allowing the sounds of the busy streets to seep up between them.

Not knowing how to continue the conversation, Dick decides to just change the subject. “Well, despite how we met up tonight, it’s good to see you again, Jason. I’ve missed you and Tim.”

Jason kicks his boots against the edge of the building’s wall. “Tim’s missed you too,” he mutters. _And so have I._ Of course, he doesn’t say the lingering thought out loud. But it’s implication is clear enough to Dick, who smiles gently.

“Mind if I hang around you for the rest of the night?” Dick asks. “I know you’re a bit touchy about that, but I just get so damn lonely sometimes…” The sarcasm on the last bit of the statement is evident, and Jason can’t help but smirk a bit as he shakes his head in exasperation.

“I guess,” he huffs out, using equal – if not more – sarcasm. “I’d been wondering what it’d be like to have a sidekick of my own for a while now.”

“Oh shut up,” laughs Dick, smacking the back of Jason’s head.

Jason snorts. Burying his feelings on the unfinished initial conversation, he pulls his helmet back on. “Well let’s go then.” He stands and pulls out a grappling hook. “If you think you can keep up.” Then he jumps off of the edge of the building, twisting around in midair to watch Dick launch himself off the rooftop in a graceful arc after him.

/

“I’m worried about him, Bruce.”

Bruce turns to look at Dick, who is standing in front of the computer monitors in the Batcave. Dick and Jason had come in from patrol about half an hour ago, followed up by Bruce and Tim. Jason and Tim went to bed not long after, but Dick had stayed, taking this moment of privacy between him and Bruce to talk.

Dick turns his domino mask over in his hands. “He’s been getting more violent. Tonight he…I was really nervous, Bruce. I don’t know what to say to him. What to do, how to prevent him from going too far.”

“It’s not your responsibility to do that,” Bruce says, sounding weary.

“I’m his brother – of course it’s my responsibility.”

Bruce pulls back his cowl, rubbing a hand against tired eyes.

Dick bites his lip, hesitant to say his next words. “Bruce, do you think…what Joker did to Jason…do you think it…”

“No,” Bruce says, his voice sharp. “That’s not what this is at all.” He pauses, clenching his hands. “This is a result of the environment Jason had been surrounded by as a child. Violence had rooted itself into that world long before Jason had been born into it. It had settled deep into the people there, and thus that was what Jason had grown up knowing.” Bruce closes his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. “I’ve tried to rid Jason of it. I’ve tried to steer him in a different direction, but he…” Bruce gives a frustrated sigh. “All he had as an example in his younger years was his father, and –”

“Jason is not his father,” Dick says darkly. “Barbara and I had researched Jason’s parents long ago. We dug _deep_ , wanting to find out everything we possibly could about the kid you had chosen as the new Robin. The things we learned about Jason’s father…” Dick grits his teeth. “Jason is _not_ that man.” His jaw tight, Dick leans back against the computer chair. “Look, in some ways, I can understand where Jason is coming from. When he’d been living with his parents, he’d seen many people go to jail only to come back exactly the same, or even worse. Including his father. From that limited perspective he had been subjected to because of his circumstances, I can see how he doesn’t expect criminals to change. We just…we need to convince him that what he had witnessed as a child does not apply to _everyone_ in Gotham.”

Bruce places his palms on the computer desk, staring up at the monitors grimly. Dick waits, but Bruce doesn’t speak. Vague frustration settling into his expression, Dick crosses his arms. “Is Jason still seeing Dr. Leslie?”

“He has his psychotherapy sessions with her every three weeks.”

Dick’s eyebrows draw together. “I thought it had been every other week.”

Bruce shakes his head. “His nightmares and night terrors have reduced significantly, and he continues to improve in all other psychological aspects. Leslie agrees with my decision that once every three weeks is enough.”

Nodding, Dick shifts, suddenly looking rather uncomfortable. “I don’t know if it’s my place to ask, but…do you think it’s safe for Jason to be going on patrol? Can he handle it?”

“He’s proven to be able to so far,” replies Bruce. He glances away, and an emotion Dick can’t quite place flashes across his face. “I can’t take him off patrol. When he’s out there, he…it’s like…”

“Like those nine months had never happened?” Dick gently finishes.

Bruce’s shoulders droop slightly. “That darkness he always carries – it seems to lesson out there. He needs it. I can’t tear that away from him unless I know with absolute certainty that he has become a danger to himself or to the people of Gotham.”

Dick watches Bruce solemnly. “I think that time may be coming sooner than you expect, Bruce. Jason’s only getting worse. The thugs he takes out, the crimes he puts a stop to…it’s seriously wearing on him; his rage only seems to grow with time. He’d never admit it, of course, but it’s obvious. Unsurprisingly, Tim’s noticed it as well; he’s talked to me about it multiple times.”

Bruce runs a hand through his hair. “I know,” he says. “I’ll…I’ll talk to Leslie about it. Tell her about Jason’s increasingly violent behavior. Maybe she can come up with something.”

“ _You_ need to come up with something,” says Dick. “You’re his _father_ , Bruce. Maybe not by blood, but much more than Willis Todd ever was.”

Bruce’s hands curl over the computer desk’s surface. A long moment of silence passes. “Get some sleep, Dick,” Bruce says tightly.

Dick opens his mouth to argue, but then he seems to think better of it. Shaking his head, Dick turns towards the elevators. “See you in the morning then.”

Bruce doesn’t answer. He only moves once he’s alone in the Batcave, and then sinks to the computer chair, pressing his hands to his face in exhaustion.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ….so this turned out to be a *way* longer chapter than I had anticipated haha. Hopefully it doesn’t bore you, but trust me, this all has a purpose that will play into the overall plot. ;)
> 
> (and don't worry, the OCs won't be sticking around for very long)

Shutting the door to his bedroom, Jason carefully limps towards his bed. He had landed incorrectly on his right foot earlier on patrol with Dick, and though he had managed to hide the initial pain from Dick for the remainder of night, it is much worse now. Usually, he doesn’t have much trouble with his right leg, which is a miracle of its own, considering how badly it had been damaged both before and after his rescue from the Joker. If his leg was the same it had been two years ago, there probably would be almost no pain to complain about at the moment. But it’s aching now, especially around the area where his artificial hip bone is. He’s not concerned though; it’ll be fine by tomorrow afternoon, as long as he doesn’t walk on it anymore tonight.

Dropping his helmet to the floor, Jason collapses onto his bed with a low groan. He kicks the boot off of his right foot, but when he tries to do the same for the left, pain flares up his right leg. Letting out a frustrated puff of air, Jason brings his left leg towards his chest and pulls the boot off with his hands, tossing it over the side of the bed. He still is wearing his armored leather jacket and camo pants, but he really couldn’t care less at the moment. All he wants to do is sleep.

“Jason?”

Jason blinks and lifts his head slightly to see Dick in the doorway, holding a bag of ice. _I guess I didn’t cover up the damn limp as well as I had hoped_. A frown crosses Jason’s face. “As shocking as this may sound, I don’t need you to baby me, Dick.”

Dick raises an eyebrow. “Apparently you do.” He walks over to Jason’s side. “You haven’t even gotten your uniform off yet.”

“So?”

Shaking his head, Dick drops the bag of ice to the bed. “Sit up.”

“You’re being stupid.”

“You’re being idiotic. Sit _up_ and at least get your jacket off.”

Glaring at Dick, Jason pushes himself up from the bed. He winces as he moves and Dick steps closer, looking anxious.

“You sure nothing was fractured?” he asks.

Jason rolls his eyes. “Trust me, if something was fractured, I’d know.” He grits his teeth as he shrugs out of his jacket, trying to keep his weight off of his right hip as he moves. “But I’m going to break something of _yours_ if you don’t leave soon. I want to sleep.”

“Then you’re in the wrong line of work,” Dick says with a grin. He reaches out and takes the jacket before Jason can protest, throwing it onto an armchair placed in front of the TV.

“Whatever,” Jason slurs, his eyes drooping as he falls back to the bed. His leg is jostled as he moves, and he cannot help the harsh flinch that cascades down his body.

Dick watches him with concern. “Seriously, how bad is it?”

“It’ll be fine by tomorrow,” insists Jason. “Honestly. Just let me sleep…”

Dick picks up the bag of ice and holds it out. “Here.”

Jason takes the bag and, upon settling it against his hip, cannot help the sigh of relief that emanates from him. “Thanks,” he murmurs.

A soft smile spreads across Dick’s face. “You’re welcome.” He starts to head towards the bedroom door, but Jason’s voice stops him.

“Hey, Dick?”

“Yeah?” Dick says, turning back to Jason.

Jason is quiet, uncertain whether or not to even ask. Silence fills the space between them, but Dick waits patiently.

Finally, Jason gives a small sigh. “Do we _have_ to do this charity thing?”

Dick’s brow creases. “Yes…” he says slowly. “Of course we do. Why?”

Jason bites his lip. “It’s not that I don’t want to help out. I do. It’s just…all those kids, and I’ve never really been outside of the Manor all that often these past months as just _me._ With…this.” He gestures to his left cheek, his expression turning sober.

Coldness runs through Dick as he stares at the scar. He returns his gaze to Jason’s, who is watching him intently. “Jason,” Dick begins tentatively. “It’s going to be fine. You have a cover story for it –”

A bitter laugh bursts from Jason. “It’s not a cover story. This thing has been carved into my fucking skin twice by the same psycho. And all of Gotham knows about the second time.”

Dick shifts awkwardly. “Well, I suppose that’s what you’ll just have to tell any kids that question it. Which I’m sure they won’t.”

Jason gives a disbelieving snort.

“Besides,” Dick continues. “Tim and I will be with you – you’re not going to be alone.”

The unease in Jason’s eyes does not lesson at Dick’s words.

Dick leans forward and places a hand on Jason’s arm. “It’s going to be fine, Jason. I promise.”

“You know the old, cliché saying, Dick,” Jason mutters. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“Well I hate clichés,” says Dick. “So I don’t mind breaking a few every once in a while.”

Jason wants to smile at the joke, wants to find comfort in his brother’s reassurance. But he can’t. Instead he shifts, turning away so that he’s no longer fully facing Dick. “See you in the morning, Dick.”

Dick straightens, sympathy in his eyes as he looks down at Jason. “Okay,” he says quietly. “Night, Jay.”

Jason doesn’t say anything as Dick leaves. With the terror of having to face dozens of people with his scarred face, Jason’s thoughts are anything but relaxed as he drifts off to sleep. For the first night in over two weeks Jason’s dreams once again turn into dark nightmares, in which clowns and demonic bats run wild. Yet when he jolts awake no one is there by his bedside, and sleep does not return for hours afterwards.

/

All too soon comes the day of the charity event. Alfred drops the boys off in front of The Thomas and Martha Wayne Home for Foster Children, promising to pick them up at 4:30pm. The three of them wait until the limo has disappeared around the street corner before advancing up the steps leading to the entrance building of the foster home. At the top of the steps wait two women in jeans and plain, neon-colored t-shirts.

“Hello there,” the taller of the two women greets, holding out her hand for the boys to shake. “You must be the Wayne boys.”

A cheerful smile spreads across Dick’s face. “I’m Dick. These are my brothers, Jason and Tim.”

The woman’s gaze falls upon Jason’s scar almost instantly, lingering there for a few seconds. But she does not comment on it nor, surprisingly, look too visibly horrified by it. Then again, this isn’t exactly the greatest part of Gotham, and Jason assumes she’s probably seen worse.

The woman tears her gaze away from Jason’s cheek and gives a warm smile to all three of the boys. “I’m Melonie, director of activities here. This is Amber, my intern who will also be helping out today.”

“We have forty children participating in today’s event,” Amber says, tugging the entrance door open. “Boys and girls, ages four to thirteen.”

Melonie and Amber lead Dick, Jason, and Tim down the entry hall and through another set of doors. They come out into a large courtyard surrounded by buildings of varying sizes, all labeled with letters A through E.

“We’ll be doing outside sports, arts and crafts, and stories,” says Melonie. She stops in the center of the courtyard. “We have eight other volunteers helping today, but – as I’m sure Mr. Wayne had told you – we want you three to be leading the events. You’ll each be at a station for fifty minutes before switching to a new one. Sound good?”

The boys nod.

“Fantastic.” Melonie rubs a hand against her chin, considering. “Well, I suppose it really doesn’t matter where you all go first. Dick, why don’t we have you start with the outdoor sports? Jason, you can do the story reading. And Tim – arts and crafts. Is that alright?”

“Yup,” grins Dick.

“Sounds good,” says Tim.

Jason just nods, struggling to hide the anxiety creeping up within him.

The doors to the building on the left of them suddenly open, and two adults wearing neon shirts similar to Melonie and Amber’s walk outside, followed by a large group of children.

The children chatter amongst themselves as they approach, poking and pushing at each other to get a look at the famous Wayne boys they most likely had seen on television at one point or another. Jason tenses as the group approaches, though he’s able to keep his face devoid of any of the apprehension he’s feeling. The group comes to a stop, spreading out in a half-circle around the event leaders.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” Melonie says with a smile. “I hope you’re all as excited for today’s event as I am. Now as you all know, we will be having a few special guests helping lead the activities. Please give a warm welcome to Dick, Jason, and Tim – Bruce Wayne’s sons.”

A few kids smile and wave excitedly. Most half-heartedly join in on the clapping the adult leaders begin, out of sheer habit. Some look utterly bored by the whole thing.

“Alright, well, we don’t want to fall behind schedule,” continues Melonie. “So let’s begin. Evan, Amber, James? Why don’t you show Dick, Jason, and Tim where to go and what to do.” She turns back to the children. “Listen up everyone. Blue group will stay here with Evan and Dick. Red group will go into Building C with Amber and Jason. Yellow group will go into Building E with James and Tim. Stick with your leaders, and have fun!”

A kind of organized chaos seems to erupt as the massive crowd of children obediently follow their leaders in the ordered directions. Amber taps Jason’s shoulder and nods towards of one of the smaller buildings. “This way, Jason.”

Jason glances back for a final glimpse of Dick and Tim, but both of them have already disappeared. Licking his lips nervously, Jason follows Amber and a group of fourteen kids to Building C.

Jason isn’t sure what to expect, but it certainly isn’t what he finds himself in after entering the building. The room he is led to is a full-fledged library; it isn’t particularly huge, but it’s adequate enough to serve its purpose. Shelves that don’t stand higher than Jason’s chest are lined neatly along the back of the room, stuffed full with books. Various posters encouraging kids to read cover the walls, and a cheap-looking plastic globe hangs from the center of the room’s ceiling. In the left-hand corner of the room a circular patch of the floor dips down about half a foot, creating a sort of pit for kids to sit and read in. Bean bag chairs litter the pit, which the children all immediately rush to upon entering the library.

“This is amazing,” Jason exclaims, looking around him. “I never would have guessed you’d have something like this.”

“We didn’t originally,” says Amber. “But your father, Mr. Wayne, had insisted on us having one, and a few years ago he gave us an extra donation, along with the usual annual one – specifically to be used for creating this library.”

Jason smiles. “Of course he did,” he mutters.

Amber gestures towards the pit the children are currently scrambling over each other to get the best seats in. “There’s a stack of books beside the adult’s chair in the Reading Pit. Go ahead and pick out a few to read to the kids. After you’ve read for a while I’ll do some trivia games with them.”

Jason shuffles his feet. “Uh, okay.” Slowly he makes his way over to the pit. As he steps down into it the children all turn to face him, their eyes bright with curiosity as Jason awkwardly makes his way to the adult chair. A few of the kids lean over to their friends, whispering and pointing at Jason’s face. Heat flushes throughout Jason’s body; he knows exactly what they’re all looking at. His movements stiff, Jason drops into the chair placed at the front of the group of kids.

There’s a beat of silence. “Um…” begins Jason. “Hi. I’m Jason.”

“What happened to your face?” asks a boy. He is rather small, looking to be no more than five years old.

“Anthony!” scolds Amber.

“It’s fine,” Jason says quietly. Trying to steady his trembling hands, he looks at the boy who had spoken. “It…uh…”

“You’re Jason Todd,” interrupts a girl. She flips a long braid over her shoulder and straightens in her seat. She is clearly one of the older kids present – probably about thirteen years old. “I remember seeing your picture on television last year. The news lady said you had been kidnapped by the Joker.”

Several of the children gasp at that. Eyes widen as they stare at Jason, even a few mouths drop open.

“The _Joker?”_ a boy exclaims.

“What’d he look like?” asks another. “Does he really have white skin and green hair?”

“My friend said he has red eyes that shoot lasers!” declares one of the younger kids. “Is that true?”

“That’s Superman, stupid,” snaps another kid.

A different boy pipes up in a rather high-pitched voice. “Does he really drive around in a clown car?”

“Does he have acid pies?” asks a girl nervously. “My friend said he does!”

Questions spout relentlessly from the mouths of the children. Some seem excited to ask about the famed clown. Others look scared out of their wits, no doubt having grown up hearing of the horrors the Joker has been responsible for. But the outburst lasts only for a few seconds before Amber interrupts.

“Everyone, everyone!” exclaims Amber, shouting to be heard over the din. “Please, be quiet. These questions are not appropriate in any manner.” She gives Jason an apologetic look. “I am so sorry. They don’t –”

“Really, it’s okay,” insists Jason, though the emotions swirling within him are telling him that it’s anything but that. “I was sort of expecting this, honestly.”

“Did the Joker do that to you?” the girl with the braids asks, nodding at Jason’s cheek.

Jason is quiet for a moment. “Yes,” he answers. His voice is solemn, but it carries a hard edge to it.

“The news lady said Batman rescued you,” the girl presses, ignoring Amber’s warning glare.

“ _Batman_ rescued you?” a boy exclaims. “That’s awesome!”

“Is he really half bat?” a little girl asks, looking positively terrified at the idea.

Despite his anxiety, Jason can’t help but smirk a little at that. “No,” he says. “He’s not.”

The girl gives a squeaky sigh of relief.

“Does he –” begins the boy who had asked about the Joker having laser eyes.

“That’s enough, everyone,” Amber cuts in, holding out her hand. “If you cannot control yourselves, I will have to ask Tara to come and take those being disruptive out of the room.” This threat seems to pacify most of the children, though a few continue to whisper to those sitting close to them.

Amber looks at Jason apologetically. “If you aren’t feeling up to this…”

“No,” Jason says quickly. He would probably die of embarrassment if he walked out because he couldn’t handle answering the questions of curious children. “It’s fine.” He focuses back on the kids staring up at him. “Um…well, I guess I’m supposed to read to you guys. Is there…is there a favorite book any of you have?” He glances down. “There’s a pile here, but I’m sure we can look around for others if you want…”

At least half of the children shoot their hands into the air, bouncing in their seats and giving desperate shouts of “Me! Pick me!” and “I have a favorite!” Jason scans the group, but as his gaze travels over them he feels himself being drawing to the back of the Reading Pit, where a girl who looks to be no older than eight years old sits.

Golden brown hair spills around her shoulders, and unevenly cut bangs fall into her downcast eyes. She wears too-big overalls and a white t-shirt beneath it, but what catches Jason’s eye is something else entirely. A large scar runs along her right arm, crookedly carving into her skin and twisting up to her elbow, where it stops. Unlike the majority of the other kids, she does not have her hand in the air. Rather, she stares at her worn sneakers with a soberness that seems far too mature for someone her age.

Eyeing her curiously, Jason nods in her direction and glances at Amber. “Who’s that?” he whispers.

Amber’s mouth twists with discomfort upon seeing who Jason is referring to. “Oh. That’s Emily.” She keeps her voice low enough that none of the kids can hear her over their chatter. “She’s…rather shy.”

Jason nods, keeping his gaze locked on the small girl. “Emily?” he asks. The other children grow quiet, surprise on their faces upon hearing the rarely called name fall from his lips. They twist around, all staring at the girl who had been called upon.

Feeling the pressure of over a dozen eyes on her, Emily lifts her gaze timidly.

A warm smile spreads across Jason’s lips. “Emily?” he tries again, careful to keep his voice gentle.

Emily’s attention focuses on Jason’s scar; as her gaze travels over the letter, something flickers in her eyes. The closest emotion Jason can pin it to is a form of empathy, a realization which surprises him.

“Do you have a favorite book, Emily?” asks Jason.

Emily glances about her nervously. Her gaze falls back to her shoes, and she begins to fiddle with the messily tied laces. Jason waits, giving her time to speak. He knows he should probably move on to another kid, but he can’t help himself. He wants to talk to this girl.

The girl bits her lip, staring into the ground. Moments pass, and the other children begins to shift, their restlessness becoming apparent. Then Emily mutters something Jason can’t hear.

“What?” he asks.

She repeats the book title, though even with Jason straining to listen he barely manages to catch it.

“ _The Velveteen Rabbit_.”

Jason had never read that book. He had seen it in bookstores before, but as his parents never bothered with things like books he had never been read it as a child. Curiosity pokes at him now as he bends down, reaching for the pile of books stacked beside him.

“It’s not in there,” Amber says. “Hold on.” She hurries to a nearby shelf, shuffling through the various books until she pulls the correct one out.

Jason takes the book from her, staring at the cover for a second before opening it to the first page and holding it up so that the children can see the pictures.

“Okay then,” he says. He clears his throat, his anxiety only increasing at being the center of attention. He begins to read, the words falling from his mouth awkwardly as they’re spoken. “ _There once was a velveteen rabbit, and in the beginning he was really splendid…_ ”

Though starting off hesitant, Jason’s voice grows in confidence as he reads. Some of the older kids seem slightly bored by the book, no doubt having read it numerous times over the years. But many of the younger children sit enraptured, their eyes drinking in the lovingly painted illustrations and their ears soaking up the carefully read words.

“‘ _What is Real?’ asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender’…”_

At first, Emily keeps her eyes downcast to the floor. But as the story goes on, the tension seems to dissipate from her body, and her attention slowly moves itself to Jason and the book he is holding.

“‘ _Real isn’t how you are made,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but_ really _loves you, then you become Real.’_

_‘Does it hurt?’ asked the Rabbit._

 “ _‘Sometimes,’ said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. ‘When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.’”_

Jason swallows, glancing over at Emily before continuing.

_‘Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,’ he asked. ‘Or bit by bit?’_

_‘It doesn’t happen all at once,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand._ ’”

Jason’s hands tremble as he turns the page. He clutches the book tightly as he reads, afraid that if he loosens his grip it will fall from his unstable grasp. The moment he finishes the book numerous kids immediately burst out cries of which story they want read next. But Jason hardly hears them; his focus is on Emily, who is staring at the copy of _The Velveteen Rabbit_ lying in his lap.

With the help of the other kids, Jason picks out two more books to read. He reads them well enough, though his mind remains with the story of the rabbit and the girl who had requested it. Finally, the reading part of the fifty minutes is over, and Amber steps in to do some trivia questions. By the time she is finished, there is still ten minutes left, which Amber allows the children to use to pick out books to check out. She and Jason stand off to the side, watching the kids as they rummage through the bookshelves, debating with each other over which ones would be worth reading.

“I’m not sure this is appropriate for me to ask,” Jason says, keeping his voice low enough so that only Amber can hear. “But I couldn’t help but notice the scar on Emily’s arm. Do you know what it’s from?”

Amber’s face takes on a grim expression. “It was from her mother,” she says. Jason stares at her with disbelieving eyes, and Amber’s mouth dips into a sad frown. “Emily has only been with us for five months. The home she had come from was…especially bad. Her mother had been extremely abusive.” She sighs, rubbing her arm. “She’s had a difficult time adjusting. She doesn’t play with the other kids, she rarely even talks to the adults. She sees a psychologist, obviously, but the sessions haven’t been very successful. It’s tragic to watch, but no one is really sure what to do with her.”

Jason watches as Emily places herself at the edge of the Reading Pit, holding _The Velveteen Rabbit_ close and flipping slowly through the pages. “Can I talk to her?”

“Sure,” Amber says. “Just don’t be offended if she doesn’t respond to you.”

Jason gives a small shrug, then makes his way over to where Emily is sitting. The girl’s head snaps up at Jason approaches, her eyes wide like a frightened animal’s.

Jason stops, holding out his hands. “Hi,” he says gently. “I just…I thought I’d sit here for a bit. Is that okay?”

Emily’s gaze once again falls to the scar disfiguring Jason’s cheek. She nods her head, shifting slightly to allow Jason to sit down.

“So this is your favorite book?” he asks, settling beside her.

Emily presses her lips together, fingering one of the book’s pages. “Yes,” she whispers.

“I had never read it before,” Jason admits. “So I’m glad you suggested it.”

Emily doesn’t answer. She shuffles her feet and drops her gaze back to the book. A long minute passes, with neither of the two speaking. Then Emily lifts her eyes to Jason’s.

“The man who did that to you,” she says, looking at his scar. “He’s a bad man, isn’t he.” It’s not a question.

Jason studies the girl, taken aback by the maturity she possesses in her voice. “Yes,” he says. There is no shakiness to the word – it is strong, absolute.

Emily glances down at her own healed injury. “The woman who gave me this,” she says timidly. “She was a bad woman, wasn’t she?” That _is_ a question. It’s uncertain – unsure if it wants to be answered.

Unease pools in Jason’s stomach. “I didn’t know her,” he replies. “But if she gave you that willingly and knowingly, then yes, I’d say that she was.”

Emily nods, not looking surprised, yet the sadness is still there. “I wish she wasn’t.”

Jason does not answer right away – he cannot trust his voice. “Me too,” he finally says. His movement hesitant, he reaches out, and then places a hand over Emily’s. Emily freezes at Jason’s touch, but she doesn’t recoil like he assumed she would. Then sit in silence, and as the seconds pass Emily begins to ease, her hand uncurling beneath Jason’s.

Emily opens her mouth to say something, but before she can speak the boom of a loud explosion sounds throughout the library, accompanied by a hard shaking of the ground. The children cry out in alarm, running towards Amber, who is standing by the checkout desk. Startled, Emily grasps Jason’s hand.

“What was that?” Jason asks harshly, spinning around to look at Amber, who is being clung to by a dozen kids.

“I-I don’t know,” stammers Amber.

Jason turns back around, looking up at the windows of the library. Smoke rises into view, and the distant sound of screaming reaches Jason’s ears.

“Oh no…” he breathes. He stands, still holding onto Emily’s hand as he approaches the high windows. Luckily, Emily is too short to see out of them.

He looks out to find nothing but horror.

An explosion of some kind had gone off in the courtyard near the gates leading to the parking lot. Smoke and still-falling debris make it hard to see clearly, but Jason is still able to make out the few forms of children running about wildly, searching aimlessly for refuge in their terror. Other forms lie sprawled out across the ground – unconscious or dead, Jason can’t tell. Then a new thought registers in Jason’s mind.

“Dick,” he whispers. Dick had been outside with the sports group. He can’t see Dick from his current vantage point, and that only increases his panic. Bending down, Jason places his hands on Emily’s shoulders. “Emily, I’m going to go see what happened. You’re going to stay here with Amber. You’ll be fine, okay? But you need to stay here.”

Emily nods, though fear dominates her eyes. His expression grim, Jason once again takes Emily’s hand, leading her over to Amber.

“Once I leave, lock and bar the doors, then take the kids and all of you hide behind the checkout desk,” he orders, passing Emily over to Amber. “Do _not_ open those doors for anyone you don’t know.”

“What’s going on?” Amber asks nervously.

“Something’s happening out there, and it’s not safe for you or the kids.”

“But what about you?”

“My brother is out there,” Jason says. “I need to help him. But it doesn’t make sense for anyone else to risk getting hurt. So just do as I said and stay _put_. I promise, help will come.”

“But –”

Jason is already running towards the library doors. “Do it!” Then he’s gone, sprinting down the short hall and bursting outside into the smoke-filled air.

“Dick!” he shouts, rushing forward into the chaos. “Dick!” He coughs harshly, wheezing against the smoke invading his lungs as he searches desperately. “Di –”

A second explosion goes off. It’s smaller than the first, but it’s still powerful enough to knock Jason off of his feet. Jason crashes to the ground, rolling into the motionless body of one of the activity leaders. His head pounding and ears ringing, Jason scrambles upright and looks down in revulsion at the seared remains. Suddenly, he hears the roaring of a large truck coming to a stop. He glances up and his breath hitches in his throat at the sight he sees.

“We throw the greatest surprise parties, don’t we boys!”

Surrounded by at least a dozen men dressed as clowns, Harley Quinn rises from her seat in the truck bed, wearing her usual obnoxious red and black outfit. A smile stretches across her face as she pulls out an already lit firecracker, which she tosses up into the air happily.

“Woo-ee! This is gonna be fun!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this probably seems a little silly, but I would feel kinda awful taking a quote from "The Velveteen Rabbit" without properly citing/crediting it. So here's a citation for the book:
> 
> Williams, Margery. The Velveteen Rabbit. New York City: Grosset & Dunlap, 1922. Print.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: There is a lot of violent content in this chapter, including descriptions of child causalities. I tried to not make it *overly* gory.

Harley jumps to the ground, looking positively thrilled as she takes a giant wooden hammer that one of the clown men hands down to her. “Thank you, sweetie.” She waves an arm forward, gesturing for the men to follow. They begin climbing out of the truck, their clown-paint making their sinister expressions look grotesque and horrifying.

Twirling the hammer in her hands, Harley grins. “You know what to do! Don’t let Mister J down now, okay?”

Her goons nod and spread out, pulling out spray paint cans, knives, and even a few Molotov cocktails. Jason’s eyes widen at the sight, suddenly feeling very naked without his Gotham Knight suit.

 _Probably not the best idea to leave our suits in the limo with Alfred,_ Jason thinks grimly, glancing about him for anything to use as a weapon. There isn’t much. But then the original intention of his coming out to the courtyard snaps back to him, and Jason pauses, unsure whether to try fighting off Harley’s men without the advantage of the Gotham Knight, or to continue searching for Dick.

Gritting his teeth, Jason turns away from the approaching clowns, diving headfirst into the thickest part of the smoke. “Dick!” he cries out desperately. “Dick, come on! Say something!” His eyes are watering from both the heat and the smoke, and his throat becomes more raw with each word he yells out. Suddenly his foot slams into something and Jason stumbles, looking down.

It’s a child. He looks no older than six years old. Lying on his back, his limbs twist outwards at awkward angles, and blood oozes from deep gashes and empty chunks where flesh should be. Glassy blue eyes stare upwards, unseeing.

Jason staggers back, bile rising in his throat as he stares down at the body.

_“Batman! Robin, thank goodness! The Joker – he took the school hostage!”_

_“Please help us! The children, they’re still inside!”_

Jason glances about him frantically, momentarily forgetting what he is supposed to be searching for as voices from old memories echo in his head. He aimlessly runs away from the small body, only to come upon another a few yards down. This one is a girl, probably about eleven years old. She is missing her right arm and part of her leg.

_“Oh, oh God! Please, someone help! Robin! Robin, please! My little girl – save my daughter!”_

Jason gags, forcing back the vomit that threatens to spill from his mouth. He continues on, terror gripping him as he runs through puddles of blood and burning patches of grass.

“Dick!” he screams. “ _DICK!_ ”

Then he sees a body lying amongst a circle of bushes that had been planted around a tree. The head and torso of the person is obscured by the mass of leaves, but Jason knows exactly who it is.

“ _Dick!”_ Jason drops to his knees beside the motionless form. He grasps Dick’s ankles and tugs hard, pulling his brother out from the thicket Dick had been thrown into from the initial blast.

Multiple scratches litter Dick’s faces and arms. From what Jason can tell, no bones have been broken. However, a nasty-looking burn runs down Dick’s left forearm. The left side of his shirt is tattered, and through the shredded cloth Jason can see that his torso has also been burned. Jason bends closer, and the smell of smoke and seared flesh fills his nostrils. Reaching out with a trembling hand, Jason presses two fingers to Dick’s throat, just beneath the jaw.

A horrible second passes. Then Jason feels it; it’s a little slower than it should be, but it’s still there – a pulse. A strangled gasp of relief spills from Jason’s mouth as he cradles his brother’s head, bending over so low his forehead nearly rests upon Dick’s.

A heavy hand suddenly clamps down on Jason’s shoulder. Sucking in a sharp breath, Jason whirls around, blindly throwing a curled fist forward. His punch is caught by a larger, gloved hand.

“Batman,” gasps Jason, staring up into the dark cowl and the respirator mask pulled over it.

“Are you alright?” Batman demands. “Are you _hurt?”_

Jason blinks, taking a moment to register the question in his overwhelmed mind. “N-no,” he sputters. “But Dick, he –”

Batman pushes Jason aside and crouches down. He feels Dick’s pulse, and Jason swears he sees Batman’s shoulders sag slightly in his relief. But then Batman is as tense as ever, and he looks grimly at Jason. “Alfred is parked along the street lining the back of the foster home,” he says, his voice low. “Take Dick to him, and then get your gear.”

“Harley…” Jason begins, looking around them.

“Robin is keeping them occupied right now.”

“Robin?”

Batman stands and gestures fervently. “ _Go_. The Gotham Knight is needed here.” Then Batman disappears into the smoke, leaving Jason and Dick.

Urgency nipping at him, Jason grabs Dick’s uninjured arm and leg and heaves his brother’s body across his shoulders so that he’s carrying Dick fireman style. His legs shake as he stands, but once he has his balance he moves through the smoke at a fast pace, keeping Dick steady against him.

As he weaves his way across the courtyard he sees two of Harley’s men spray painting wide smiles on one of the buildings. Another is tossing a brick through a window. Jason’s jaw tightens, but he steers clear of them, knowing he has to get Dick to safety before interfering.

Suddenly, something hard slams into his lower spine, knocking him to the ground and causing Dick’s limp body to go sprawling into the grass. Pain throbs throughout Jason’s back, but nothing seems to have been broken, and after a long moment he manages pushes himself to his hands and knees. Groaning, he twists around to see Harley standing behind him; she props her hammer up against her shoulder, smiling broadly.

“Harley,” he spits, anger burning in his voice despite the fear at seeing one of his torturers again.

“Jaybird, my little dear!” Harely exclaims, twirling the hammer. “I’ve _missed_ you, darling! It’s been so lonely without you and Mister J to keep me company.” She gives an exaggerated pout. “And now my poor pudding is locked up by himself in Arkham, when it should be all three of us in there – together again, like the happy family we were meant to be!”

“If that was your definition of happy, it’s no wonder you still bother hanging around the Joker,” sneers Jason. “Since he treats you _so_ _well_.”

Fury flashes across Harley’s face for the slightest instant. “You always were such a mean little boy.” She gives a disapproving tut. “And talking about Mister J like that, after all he did for you!”

Jason clenches his fists. “Just stay the fuck away from me, Harley.”

Harley giggles, though the sound comes off as rather sinister. “Not this time, little bird. After all, I came here _especially_ to see you today!” She taps her chin thoughtfully. “I think I’ll bring you back to my pudding as a reunion present. How he’d love to see you again!”

Jason’s jaw tightens, and he can’t deny the terror seizing him at the threat.

Harley wags a finger. “However, you’ve been very naughty lately. I’m sure Mister J won’t mind if I give you a little spanking before sending you over to him!” She raises her hammer and Jason braces himself, preparing to roll out of way the moment the weapon begins its descent.

“Hey, Harley!”

Harley and Jason snap their heads in the direction of the shout. They don’t see anyone, but the next second Harley cries out in pain, dropping her hammer as a Batarang smacks into her wrist. She looks about her wildly, but doesn’t even finish turning around before a blur of red and black slams into her from behind, knocking her to the ground.

Robin somersaults to the ground and springs to his feet in a fluid, graceful motion. He stands over Harley, glaring down at her. “Why don’t you give _that_ to Joker instead,” he growls.

Harley moans and rolls over, her eyes brightening as they latch onto Robin. “Oh! The _newest_ Boy Wonder!” she exclaims gleefully. She doesn’t even bother to try and get up. “You are much more adorable than little Jay-Jay was in those tights. He just couldn’t quite pull off that innocent look.”

“Shut it, Harley,” snarls Robin, reaching down and cuffing Harley’s wrists to a tree away from the fire. “Or I’ll gag you as well.”

“Kinky,” Harley says, winking at Robin.

Robin turns, ignoring her as he walks over to Jason and Dick. Facing away from Harley, Jason once again pulls Dick over his shoulders and stands, his gaze hardening as he stares ahead.

“Jason?” Robin asks quietly, coming up to Jason’s side.

Jason tightens his grip on Dick’s body. “I’ll get Dick out of here,” he says. “And I’ll be back soon. You help those kids.” Jason spares Robin a momentary glance, and then hurries away from the Boy Wonder and the smoldering remains of the courtyard.

Alfred is parked behind one of the dorm buildings of the foster home, along a deserted street that is hardly more than a filthy alley. Upon seeing Jason, Alfred rushes to the side of the limo facing the approaching boys and yanks the door open. Together the two lie Dick across the backseat, and Jason takes a portable oxygen mask from a medical kit Alfred holds out, securing it over Dick’s mouth.

“Hurry, get inside and change,” Alfred urges, nearly slamming the door shut on Jason’s foot as Jason climbs in. Alfred then rushes back to the driver’s side and slides into the car.

“How’d Tim get into his Robin suit so fast?” Jason asks as he tears off his sneakers and shoves his jeans down his legs.

“He had contacted both myself and Master Bruce the moment the first bomb had gone off,” Alfred explains. “I had been running errands and was still near enough to meet Master Timothy here in less than five minutes.”

Gritting his teeth in annoyance at the crucial seconds ticking by, Jason hurriedly pulls on his camo pants, buckling his utility belt over them. His boots come next, and then he’s grabbing at his armored jacket lying on the opposite seat. “Take care of Dick,” he says, snatching his helmet and tugging it over his head.

“Of course,” Alfred says. “And take care of _yourself_ , Master Jason.”

Jason doesn’t reply. Wrenching the passenger door open, he all but throws himself from the limo in his haste to get outside. The moment his booted feet touch the ground he shoots a grappling hook at the dorm building’s rooftop, launching himself upwards. Arching over the edge of the building, Jason flips through the air, landing on his feet perfectly. He runs to the other side of the rooftop, skidding to a stop and peering over the side to assess the situation.

The smoke from the explosions probably would have cleared away by now, if not for combining with the smoke provided by the fire now raging in the foster home’s entrance building. Flames lick the windows, spreading out to the trees dotting the courtyard and consuming the fallen bodies littering the grass. A few of Harley’s clowns had already been taken out by Batman and Robin, but at least ten remain.

Movement near the building Jason had read to the kids in catches his eye, and he turns to see one of Harley’s goons running out the front doors. The clown-faced man goes only a few yards before stopping and turning around. Looking up at one of the library windows, he pulls out a Molotov cocktail and a lighter.

Panic jolts through Jason. Immediately he jumps off the edge of the roof, shooting a grappling hook into the side of the building and using it to swing himself towards the man.

The thug lights the cloth stuffed into the top of the bottle; he raises it high above his head and heaves his arm back. Then he throws the Molotov cocktail forward.

A dark figure suddenly swings in front of him, and a gloved hand snatches the flaming bottle right out of the air. The Gotham Knight swings upwards, tossing the Molotov cocktail at an already burning tree. The bottle explodes upon impact, but does little to further the fire already engulfing the tree.

The Gotham Knight arcs back around to where the clown still stands, landing on the ground with a heavy thud. The clown-faced man takes a step back, but then he pulls out a gun and points it at the Knight.

“Stay back, freak!” he warns.

“That’s a cute nickname coming from a man wearing clown make-up,” says the Knight, though his voice holds no humor in the snarky comment. There is only rage. He twists slightly, wrenching a Batarang from his belt. The gun fires, but the Knight has already moved out of the way; at the same moment he releases the Batarang, launching it at the thug. The weapon knocks the gun from the man’s hand as the Knight rushes forward. He jumps into the air, spinning his legs around to slam into the side of the surprised thug’s head. The man crashes to the ground, blood gushing from a fresh gash above his ear.

“Don’t fall asleep,” the Knight growls. He reaches down, grabbing a handful of the goon’s hair and pulling his head upright. “We’re not done yet.” He delivers a hard punch to the thug’s face, releasing his grip so that the man drops back to the dirt. The Knight swings his foot forward, but before it can slam into the clown’s stomach the thug grabs the boot and gives it a hard yank. The Knight rolls with the twist, using the momentum to flip his other foot around so that it kicks the thug directly in the face.

Sudden footsteps attract the attention of the Knight, and he snaps his head up to see another clown rushing towards the library. In the distance, Batman is preoccupied with Harley’s other men, while Robin is helping steer survivors away from the fire, carrying the ones who can’t walk for themselves. Neither of them see the man pull out a new Molotov cocktail and light it.

“No!” the Knight shouts, jerking away from the thug he is crouched over. But as he begins to push himself to his feet the man he had been fighting suddenly springs up, wrapping beefy arms about the Knight’s torso and wrenching him to the ground. They roll over, and the heavyset thug braces his knees on either side of the Knight, pinning him down.

“I don’t think so, _pal_ ,” snarls the man. Blood drips from his broken nose onto the Knight’s helmet. “We’ve got a job to do, and we don’t need _you_ messing it up.” He pulls out a knife and swipes it at the Knight’s throat. The thug’s bulky weight makes it difficult for the Knight to jerk out of the weapon’s path, but the Knight manages to move just enough, and the blade instead scratches harmlessly against the bottom of his helmet.

With a furious snarl, the Gotham Knight throws all his weight forward, ferociously head-butting the man. There’s a harsh crack as the helmet collides with the thug’s unprotected skull, and with a moan the clown finally loses consciousness, crumpling on top of the Knight.

There’s a shattering of glass, followed by a _woosh_ of flames leaping up into the air.

“ _No!”_ Panic flares through the Knight and with a heavy thrust of his legs he kicks the limp body off of him. Flipping over, he jumps to his feet, only to watch with horror as flames and smoke explode from the library window the Molotov cocktail had been thrown into.

The sound of approaching emergency vehicle sirens echoes distantly. But Jason can’t hear them; all that fills the air are the terrified cries of children. Jason immediately bolts back into Building C and slams himself into the metal doors leading into the library. But the doors hold, and Jason stumbles back, staring at the message painted across them in green graffiti.

 _Ha, ha, ha!_ read the revolting words. They arc over the door handles, through which an iron rod has been bent around, holding them shut.

Jason frantically reaches into his utility belt, pulling out a device made specifically to eject explosive gel. He sprays it over the door handles and takes a step back, pressing a button on the side of the device. The gel explodes, leaving a wide hole in the center of the double doors. Jason rushes forward, slamming the doors open.

The far end of the library is in complete flames. From the checkout desk to the Reading Pit fire licks its way over the carpeting and discarded books, closing in on where Amber and the children huddle against the wall to the left of the doors.

“Amber!” Jason shouts. Amber and the children snap their heads towards the voice, and their eyes widen upon seeing the armored figure.

“Who…?” chokes Amber, coughing on smoke.

“Hurry!” orders Jason, gesturing towards the doors.

Some of the children have already rushed to Jason’s side, which surprises Jason somewhat, as his appearance isn’t exactly one he would expect kids to trust so easily. But then he figures anything is better to them than the fire. Or perhaps the bat ears on his helmet provide that needed connection to the legend kids know to be on their side.

A few of the children try to bolt for the hallway, but Jason holds them back. “Not yet,” he says. “There are men out there who may hurt you.”

“But the fire –” begins one of the older girls.

Jason holds out a hand. “Just wait.” Glancing anxiously at the encroaching flames, he looks back to Amber. “Come on! Get the rest of them!”

Amber shakes her head, looking down at two children lying in her lap. “I can’t,” she sobs. “Anthony and Emily – they’re hurt. Wh-whatever it was that crashed through the window…it landed and exploded right next to them.”

Icy fear jolts through Jason. He looks down and sees that both of the children lying across Amber’s legs are unconscious, and sustaining multiple injuries. Scratches cover them, as well as some serious-looking burns.

_“No! Not my daughter! Please, not her!”_

_“Robin? Robin!”_

Remembered voices echo in his head. Pushing down his nausea at both the memory and the current sight before him, Jason bends over and takes Emily into his arms. “Can you carry Anthony? He’s smaller.”

Amber nods and gathers up the frail body, standing shakily. Jason quickly turns back to the children still waiting at the door, all looking too terrified to move. “Come on,” he says. Cradling Emily against his chest, Jason leads the group out into the smoke-filled hall, and together they hurry outside.

The sight they come out to is a surprise to Jason. A dozen firemen have entered the courtyard, and already they have begun reducing the flames engulfing the place. The majority of Harley’s goons lie unconscious across the charcoaled grass, and the few still standing are surrounded by at least twenty armed police officers. Commissioner Gordon stands amongst the circling cops, his gun raised as he orders the clown-faced men to drop their weapons. Surprisingly, they do.

Jason leads Amber and the children across the courtyard towards the parking lot, to where three ambulances wait. As they hurry along, Jason sees Robin coming over from the opposite end of the courtyard, carrying another child. Batman is escorting Harley Quinn to the police cars, the tightness of his grip noticeable even from yards away.

“Am I going to Arkham?” questions a gleeful Harley. “Home sweet home! I’ll be with my pudding again soon! And he’ll be so happy to hear about today.”

“Shut up, Harley,” snarls Batman.

“My, you are a witty one!” Harley exclaims sarcastically as she’s shoved into the backseat of one of the cars. “Come on, lay another one on me, B-man! Make me laugh!”

Her rambling is muffled as Batman slams the car door shut. Jason looks away and continues on, panic rising in his chest as he glances down at Emily. Burns mar her right arm, running up her neck and stopping just below her jaw. Her clothing is charred along her right torso, and Jason guesses that beneath the ruined cloth are only more burns. Deep cuts from what Jason assumes to have been from shattered glass also cover her skin. Her breathing is shallow, and it seems to slow with every step Jason takes.

Once Amber and the children are safely in the parking lot, Jason runs up to two paramedics dragging a stretcher out of one of the ambulances; without a word he sets Emily’s body on it, looking at the paramedics desperately.

“Help her,” he pleads, his voice sounding rawer than ever. “ _Help her._ ”

The paramedics look a bit stunned at the sudden appearance of an armored man wearing bat ears, but they shake off their surprise quickly enough and turn their attention to Emily.

“Is she going to be alright?” Jason demands.

“We don’t know yet,” replies one of the paramedics, pulling an oxygen mask over Emily’s pale face.

“She has to be,” insists Jason. He gives a harsh cough. “She –”

“Gotham Knight.”

Jason freezes, turning at the familiar voice. Robin stands not five feet away, watching him wearily.

“We have to go,” says Robin. He pulls off his own respirator mask and tucks it back into his utility belt.

Jason glances at Emily, who is being lifted into the back of the ambulance. “But –”

“Knight,” Robin says tightly. He gives his head a warning shake.

Clenching his fists, Jason gives a curt nod. He stalks away from the ambulances, moving towards an alley wedged in between what is left of the foster home’s entrance building and a long-abandoned lawyer’s office.

Casting back one last look to make sure GCPD has the situation in hand, Robin follows the Gotham Knight. The apprehension on his masked face only grows as he watches Jason shoot a grappling hook and launch himself onto the office building.

The moment Jason’s feet hit the roof he begins to run, his mind burning with remembrance.

_“Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall…”_

It had happened years ago. Joker had taken a kindergarten hostage, but by the time Batman and Robin had arrived, there was not much left to save.

Little arms and legs, purposefully mismatched and crudely stitched back together. A jigsaw of blood and horror. Parents weeping, desperately trying to piece together the jumbled remains of their children.

The Joker’s voice had crackled to life through the school’s speakers as the Dark Knight and the Boy Wonder stumbled through the hall of blood and bodies.

 _"All the king’s horses, and all the king's men,”_ sang the Joker. _“Couldn't put Humpty together again."_

Jason had given Bruce the slip not long after, switching off his tracker and vowing to do what Bruce never had the courage to do himself. He went after the Joker but, like a fool, fell into a trap laid out just for him.

It had been Jason’s last night as Robin. He didn’t see Bruce again for nine months.

All Jason can see as he runs across the rooftops now is dead children. Chopped up kindergarteners and burned foster children, crying out in vain for a rescue that is not coming. It is just like before. And once again, he cannot protect them.

He’s choking, gasping for breath. His lungs feel like they’re on fire, and Jason stumbles as he lands on the rooftop of a condemned apartment building. Falling forward, Jason catches himself on his hands and knees, his body shuddering as a violent coughing fit racks his body.

“Jason!” Suddenly, thin hands are on his back, steadying him.

Jason lifts his head to see Tim looking down at him, his anxiety apparent even with the Robin domino mask on. Jason tries to speak, but as he opens his mouth another series of harsh coughs spill from it.

Not bothering to ask for permission, Tim reaches out and presses the correct combination of buttons on the side of Jason’s helmet, unlocking it and dragging it from Jason’s head. Tim tosses the helmet aside and bends closer, returning his hands to Jason’s back.

“ _Jason!”_ Tim says desperately. “Jason, come on – _breathe!”_

Jason shakes his head, and a ragged sob is torn from him as the image of Emily’s burned body flashes in front of his eyes.

Tim frantically pulls out the respirator mask he had used earlier. Placing one hand against the back of Jason’s head he all but shoves the mask against Jason’s mouth, holding it in place as Jason instinctively jerks in Tim’s grip.

“Deep breaths. Come on, _work with me_ , Jason!”

Jason focuses on Tim’s voice, using it to steady himself and drown out Joker’s singing. Gradually the coughing fit subsides, and then Jason slumps forward. Tim catches Jason before he hits the rooftop, grunting as he props Jason’s heavy body up against his. Tim is forced to let go of the respirator to keep Jason from falling over, but Jason manages to catch it in time, keeping the mask pressed against his mouth with a shaking hand.

“Jason?” stammers Tim. “ _Jay?”_

Jason closes his eyes, breathing deeply as he tries to clear his lungs of the smoke invading them. The sound of approaching footsteps startles the boys, and they jerk their heads to the left to see Batman running towards them.

“Jason?” Bruce says, his voice anxious as he kneels beside them. Placing a hand over the one Jason is holding the mask up with, Bruce pushes Jason’s sweaty bangs back. “Jason, can you speak?”

“He must have inhaled a lot of smoke before putting on his helmet,” Tim says worriedly.

Bruce’s mouth dips into a frown. “He did.” He glances at Tim. “Are you alright?”

Tim nods. “Yes. What about Dick?”

“He’s back at the Manor. Dr. Leslie is taking care of him.”

Jason sucks in a shuddering breath, regaining Bruce and Tim’s attentions.

“Jason?” says Bruce.

Jason lifts teary eyes to Bruce’s. “They’re all dead,” he whispers, his hoarse voice echoing slightly in the respirator. “Just like before.” He gives a sob. “And this time it’s because of m-me. They came h-here because of me…”

Tim’s grip on Jason tightens, and Bruce runs a hand through Jason’s hair. “It’s okay, Jason. Just breathe. _Breathe_.”

Jason’s chest heaves as he struggles to keep the coughs under control.

“We have to get you both back to the Manor,” Bruce says. He stands, and helps Tim and Jason to their feet. Jason manages to stand on his own for the most part, but Tim pulls his older brother’s arm over his shoulders anyway. Looking exhausted, Jason doesn’t bother to resist.

“Come on,” says Bruce. “We need to go.”

Tim nods, and together he and Jason follow Bruce to the edge of the rooftop, where the Batplane hovers, waiting for them to climb in.


	6. Chapter 6

The moment the Batplane comes to a stop on the landing strip within the Batcave Tim stands, pulling Jason to his feet. Bruce jumps down as Tim and Jason get to the edge of the open cockpit, watching as Jason swings a shaky leg over the side of the plane. Shifting slightly, Jason loosens his grip on Tim, but instead of finding his balance he begins plummeting towards the concrete. Bruce lunges forward, catching Jason and helping him stand.

“Jason?” Tim cries out, jumping over the side of the plane to the ground.

Jason blinks heavily, giving a weak cough. “Ever’thing’s…spinning…”

“It’s the smoke inhalation,” Bruce says grimly. “Come on, let’s get you over to Dr. Leslie.”

The three make their way to where Dr. Leslie and Alfred are tending to Dick, who is lying in a narrow hospital bed in the medical bay section of the cave.

Both Dr. Leslie and Alfred raise their heads at the approaching footsteps, and – to Jason and Tim’s surprise – Dick as well.

“Dick?” A relieved smile spreads across Tim’s face as he rushes forward.

“Hey Timmy,” Dick says quietly, his voice hoarse. An oxygen mask still covers his nose and mouth, though this one is from the medical bay’s equipment, having replaced the portable one Jason had put on him. Bandages wrap around Dick’s left forearm, as well as his bare torso. The scratches covering his face and arms have antibiotic cream lathered over them, but otherwise remain untouched, as they’re too thin or small to require bandages.

Dick drowsily lifts his eyes to Jason, who is still hanging onto Bruce. “Jay?” he asks in concern.

Jason shakes his head. “Just…smoke…in’lation….” He gives another small cough.

“Bruce, bring him here,” Dr. Leslie instructs, gesturing to a second hospital bed she’s set up to the left of Dick.

Bruce helps Jason onto the bed before stepping back, giving Dr. Leslie room to work. Dr. Leslie moves swiftly, replacing the respirator on Jason’s face with one from the medical bay. Then she’s checking his eyes, which are bloodshot from the smoke, and taking his wrist into her hands, checking his pulse.

“I’m going to give you the same antibiotics I gave Dick to treat his smoke inhalation,” Dr. Leslie says. She goes over to a worktable and tugs a drawer open, pulling out a fresh hypodermic needle and a syringe, which she quickly fills with the proper antibiotic. “Then I’m going to get a chest x-ray and take some blood tests to check your blood count and carboxyhemoglobin and methemoglobin levels. Okay?”

“Sure,” Jason mumbles, resting his head back.

The syringe ready, Dr. Leslie comes back over to Jason’s side. “I’m assuming you have a headache?”

“Yeah. Feels like –” Jason makes a small grimace as the needle is pressed into his skin, injecting him with the antibiotics. “– my skull is being split open.”

Dr. Leslie nods. “I’m not surprised.” She walks back over to the worktable, disposing of the used needle and plucking a damp washcloth from a bowl of water Alfred had brought down.

Bruce moves closer to Dick, eyeing the bandages with concern. “How are the burns?”

Dick shrugs. “No third degree burns – just first and second. I was farther away from the blast, so I didn’t get hit as bad by it.”

“Dick will make a full recovery from his injuries, and the scarring should be minimal,” Dr. Leslie says assuredly. Back at Jason’s side, she lays the cool washcloth against Jason’s forehead to help ease his headache. Some of the tension in Jason’s body relaxes at the reliving touch, and his eyes droop shut wearily. Dr. Leslie watches Jason for a moment, then looks back up at Dick. “Dick is fortunate; the burns look worse than they really are. Though I’m sure he’ll be back on patrol long before the necessary healing time frame is up.” She frowns at Dick in exasperation, to which Dick gives another shrug.

“Come on, Dr. Leslie,” he grins. “You know you can’t keep a good man down for long.”

Tim gives a loud snort.

Looking amused, Dick glances over at Jason. His smile falters ever so slightly. “Jay?”

Jason’s eyes flicker open.

Dick’s brow creases with worry. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Jason answer, his voice soft. “Just tired.”

But a deeper look at Jason is all Dick needs to see that it’s not just exhaustion that is darkening Jason’s mood. He frowns, but decides not to press the matter further, knowing Jason would never confide in him with such a large audience present.

Tim groans, tugging off his domino mask. “I’m gonna go change,” he mutters.

“Come back down here immediately afterwards,” says Dr. Leslie. “I want to monitor you for at least an hour; I know you had your respirator on, but I want to be sure. Bruce, you too.”

Tim nods and gives a teasing salute. “You know best, doc.” Stretching his arms, he turns and heads towards his elevator.

An hour and a half later, after having run final checkups on everyone, Dr. Leslie heads home. Tim and Bruce have been declared fine, and Dick and Jason are allowed to take off their oxygen masks. Dick’s voice is still raw, making it difficult for him to speak for long periods of time, but Jason’s cough has, for the most part, dissipated.

Bruce, unsurprisingly, goes right back to work. With Tim sitting between Dick and Jason’s beds in the medical bay, the three watch as Bruce works, compiling any information he can find on Harley Quinn and the incident today she is responsible for.

Alfred brings down soup for everyone, but Bruce ignores his as he finally turns from the computer and makes his way over to the medical bay, where the boys and Alfred wait.

“There were forty children and ten volunteers involved in the fire at the foster home,” Bruce says grimly. “So far, police and medical documents have reported fifteen injured and eight dead.” He rubs a hand across his eyes. “Harley is back at Arkham; the rest of her accomplices are at Blackgate Penitentiary.”

“Yes, I’m sure Harley will stay put,” Jason mutters.

Bruce frowns at Jason. “Nevertheless, this is all that can be done about the situation right now.” He focuses his gaze on Tim. “Tim, I know you’re probably tired from today’s events, but we still need to go on patrol tonight.”

“I know,” says Tim.

Bruce nods. “We’ll leave in an hour.”

Jason straightens in his bed. “I can go too, Bruce.”

Bruce shakes his head. “Jason, I’d prefer it if you stayed here. At least for a few hours longer. Maybe later tonight you can go. But not in an hour.”

“But –”

“ _Not_ in an hour.”

A frown crosses Jason’s face, but Bruce’s warning glare is much more fierce. “Stay here with Dick. I’ll contact you later tonight when I decide that it’s fine for you to leave.” Before Jason has a chance to argue further, Bruce turns away and heads towards the elevators, leaving the three boys in the cave.

An hour passes and soon enough the Batmobile is roaring out of the cave with Batman and Robin inside. The moment the car is gone Jason swings his legs over the side of the hospital bed, jumping down to the cold floor of the cave.

“Where are you going?” asks Dick, sitting up. “Jason, you heard what Bruce said.”

“All I got was some smoke inhalation,” Jason replies irritably. “I just needed to lie down for a while, and now my headache is gone and I feel fine. I’m not going to just sit around because Bruce said so.”

“Jay…”

Ignoring Dick, Jason makes his way over to the massive computer on the cave’s far wall. He drops into the desk chair and in seconds has the police and hospital records up from today’s incident.

Fourteen injured and nine dead. Someone must have died at the hospital of their injuries. Anxiety nipping at him, Jason searches for one name: Emily.

Her file is easy enough to find. Emily Louise Weinstein. Eight years old. Injuries include third degree burns on right arm, third and second degree burns on the right side of the torso, smoke inhalation, and a concussion. Patient is in critical condition and is being kept in the ICU.

 _She’s still alive._ Comes Jason’s relieved thoughts. _She’s hurt, but she’s alive._ He breathes deeply, closing his eyes as he runs his hands through his hair.

A long moment passes, and then Jason refocuses on the computer, typing in new commands. Multiple patient files are brought up, all of the victims from the fire today.

The first one to come up is of Anthony Porter. Jason frowns at the familiar name; he was the little boy Amber had carried out. According to the medical files, he had died at the hospital only forty-five minutes ago after succumbing to severe burns and smoke inhalation.

Jason rests his elbows on the computer desk, pressing his folded hands to his mouth as he stares at the document declaring Anthony’s death. According to the records, he was only five years old. Gritting his teeth, Jason looks further into the other victims’ files.

Joaquin. Seven years old. Died of severe burns.

Elise. Twelve years old. Died of smoke inhalation.

Luis. Four years old. Died of blast trauma and severe burns.

Ramona. Ten years old. Died of blast trauma and asphyxiation.

On and on the list goes, documenting both the dead and the injured. With every one Jason reads he feels himself get sicker. He wants to vomit. He wants to scream.

He wants to _kill_ every monster responsible for this.

He wants them to feel the same terror those kids felt. Feel the same pain, the same hopelessness. He wants them to know firsthand what it had felt like to die scared and alone.

 _That_ would be justice.

A small notification alarm goes off in the bottom right-hand corner of the computer monitors. It’s an alert system Bruce uses to keep track of police and emergency responder communication lines. Jason clicks on it, and a small textbox appears.

FIRE BREAKOUT AT BLACKGATE PENITENTIARY. EMERGENCY RESPONSE IN ROUTE.

A fire? At Blackgate? Jason’s brow creases at the news. Then realization strikes him, and a sudden determination takes hold. This is his chance. Within the chaos caused by the fire, he might be able to finally rid the world of some of the scum responsible for today’s horrors. If he’s careful enough, he should be able to do it without being seen by the emergency responders.

It might just work.

Springing to his feet, Jason rushes back to the medical bay, where his Gotham Knight jacket and helmet are laying on a table.

“Jay?” Dick asks, lifting his head groggily. Due to the pain meds Dr. Leslie gave him for the burns, he’s only been getting sleepier as the hours have passed.

“Go to sleep, Dick,” says Jason, pulling on his jacket. He gives a small cough. “I’ll be home later.”

“But Bruce…”

“Can go screw himself.” Jason tugs his helmet over his head. Then he’s sprinting to where his motorcycle waits, ignoring Dick’s call for him. Seconds later he’s speeding out of the Batcave, heading for Blackgate Penitentiary.

Twilight casts a soft glow over the darkening sky as Jason races along the deserted road leading away from Wayne Manor. The wind whips against him, tearing at his jacket and body as he accelerates, urging his bike to go faster. He has to make it to Blackgate before the fire is under control. Otherwise he’ll never be able to do what he’s about to do unseen.

For the slightest instant, doubt touches his thoughts. What _is_ he doing? This is against everything Bruce had taught him, raised him to be.

But the necessity of violence to end an even worse violence is what _Gotham_ taught him. It’s a lesson beaten into him by men like his father and monsters like the Joker. He knows that people like them will never stop. There will always be victims if criminals like them are left alive. There are nine people dead today as proof of that.

Only death can protect the innocents from their wrath.

Jason arrives at Blackgate in less than fifteen minutes. He hides his bike in some overgrown shrubbery, and then launches himself through the trees and over the entrance gate, which has been left unattended by the majority of security due to the fire raging throughout the prison.

Half of the west wing is engulfed in flames. GCPD and firefighters run amongst the chaos, trying to put out the fire and usher both the staff and the inmates to safety. The prisoners being rescued are put into armed trucks parked just outside of the west gate. The heat and smoke is stifling, even for Jason in his helmet.

Keeping to the shadows, Jason presses a button on his gauntlet that opens up a keypad and hologram screen. Typing with his other hand, he breaks into Blackgate’s files in less than a minute.

“Gotcha,” he whispers, pulling up the files for Harley’s men that had been brought in today. They had been put into the Division C Cells, Level 2, West Wing. Jason raises an eyebrow at the coincidence of the men’s location. Reverting the keypad and screen back into his gauntlet, Jason makes his way towards the burning building.

The fire is a perfect distraction; he has almost no problem sneaking to the eastern wall of the building, which is just outside of the fire’s range. The door has been unlocked in its emergency state, and so all Jason has to do is crouch behind a short half-wall and wait for two firemen to leave before slipping inside.

Jason hadn’t arrived at Blackgate much longer after the emergency vehicles had, and so there are still many prisoners waiting for release from their cells from the section of the West Wing not yet consumed by the flames.

Waiting is a loose term for it. Screams of panic and desperation echo down the hall from the cells, where waving hands reach through the bars, begging for release. Jason edges closer, but stops and presses against the wall as a group of two guards and two firefighters come bursting into the hall from the opposite end, weapons raised and handcuffs out to start transporting the prisoners.

Turning away, Jason heads towards the source of the fire. He has this gut feeling that somehow, that’s where he’ll find Harley’s men. The sweltering heat intensified with every step, and though his helmet filters out the smoke, but it does little to keep him cool, making it hell as he winds his way to the Division C Cells.

“ _All those on ground level! Ground level officers, we have an escapee from Rescue Squad B – Level 2 of West Wing!”_

Jason tilts his head, listening to the shout echoing through the police communication lines he had tapped into. “Alright then,” he mutters. “Let’s go.”

Bolting to the left, Jason slams a door open that leads into a hall delving even further into the West Wing. He runs along, using his scanners to detect anyone who might be hidden within the shadows of the halls, which are only lit with red emergency lights. Most of this section of the building has already been evacuated though, and after a few seconds Jason wonders if perhaps the escapee had gone somewhere else.

Then he hears the thudding of frantic footsteps. Jason spins in the direction of the sound and bursts through the door opening up to the eastern staircase.

Hurrying down the stairs, with his back to Jason, is a prisoner.

He’s alone, and his orange jumpsuit is filthy with both sweat and ash. Jason grabs onto the staircase’s railing, propelling himself over it and twisting around so that he lands on the steps below – directly in front of the prisoner. The prisoner jumps back in shock, staring at the Gotham Knight.

Jason’s eyes widen. This is the very man that had thrown the Molovtov cocktail into the library window. Not the one he had fought, but the second one; the one who had succeeded in setting the library ablaze. Searing rage explodes within Jason’s chest. This is the man responsible for that boy Anthony’s death. For the injuries Emily has. And for who knows what other causalities. Gritting his teeth in fury, Jason steps forward.

“Trying to escape?” the Gotham Knight hisses. “Like the coward you are?”

“N-no,” sputters the man. He stumbles back up a few steps, widening the distance between him and the Knight. “A beam fell between me and the guard. I panicked and ran off. I was just trying to get outside; I wasn’t trying to escape!”

“So you left an innocent man to die?” snarls Jason. He wraps a hand in the front of the man’s jumpsuit, pulling him close. “Just like you left those kids?”

The thug struggles to pull away. “I was just doing my job!”

“Yeah, well so am I.” Jason throws the man to the stairs and slams his boot down on the thug’s ankle. There’s a sickening crack, and the man lets out an agonized cry.

Immediately Jason is on the man, driving his fists into the man’s face over and over. Blood splatters onto Jason’s helmet and gloves, and the sound of bone crunching mixes in with the solid thuds of the hits.

All Jason can see is red. Blood red. Of the children who have died on his watch. Of the people who have suffered for far too long in Gotham. Of his own blood that the Joker ripped from him.

Red, red, _red._

“ _Knight!_ Knight, stop!”

Hands clamp down on Jason’s arm, wrenching him away from the limp body.

“NO!” cries out Jason. “Not yet!” Using his free hand, he rips a Batarang from his belt. He lunges forward, trying to tear himself from the vicelike grip. The hold doesn’t break, but Jason flings himself forward enough and swings the Batarang out, aiming for the prisoner’s throat.

“STOP!” bellows Batman. Jason is jerked back once more, and the Batarang instead slices along the top of the unconscious man’s chest. A thin line of red seeps through the jumpsuit, and then Robin swoops down from above, immediately applying pressure to the wound.

“Get away from him!” screams Jason. “He doesn’t deserve your help!”

“Knight!” Batman swings Jason around so that the two are facing each other. “ _Jason!”_

Growling furiously, Jason tries to wrench himself free of Batman’s grasp. But Batman’s grip tightens painfully, and Jason is shoved against the staircase wall. “What is wrong with you?” shouts Batman. “Have you lost your mind? You nearly killed him!”

“He deserves it!” Jason twists violently, but is unsuccessful in breaking free. “Let me finish it! If you aren’t brave enough to do it, _let me!”_

Batman grits his teeth. “Jason, _stop!”_

Jason thrusts his knee upwards, jamming it into Batman’s gut. Batman grunts and loosens his grip just enough for Jason to pull himself out of it. Then he delivers a hard kick to Batman’s abdomen, sending the man staggering back a few steps. Jason turns to rush back to where Robin is tending to the wounded prisoner, but Batman throws himself forward and wraps an arm around Jason’s waist. He pulls Jason back, slamming him to the concrete of platform between the staircases.

“STOP THIS!” Batman shouts. He crouches over Jason, holding the younger man in place with his knee. “Dammit Jason, don’t make me do something I don’t want to.”

With an almost animalistic growl, Jason slams the heel of his hand into Batman’s leg, knocking it from his chest. He moves to get up, but Batman delivers a hard punch to Jason, causing the back of his head to smack against the floor. Jason is momentarily dazed by the blow, which gives Batman a long enough advantage to pin down Jason’s right arm. Tearing off Jason’s gauntlet, Batman reaches into one of his utility belt pockets and pulls out a small syringe; he quickly lowers it to Jason’s exposed wrist, injecting a sedative into the boy.

“No!” yells Jason. Batman lets up slightly, allowing Jason to yank his hand away, but it’s too late. Panic courses through Jason at the familiar feeling of the drugs taking hold and he gives a hard shove to Batman, scrambling backwards. Clutching his wrist, Jason stares up at Batman in horror.

Batman’s expression twists into an uncomfortable grimace. “I’m sorry,” whispers Bruce.

“You…you…” Jason says faintly. He tries to pull himself up, but the drugs have already taken away control of his limbs and he instead slumps down the wall of the staircase. Any attempt to speak is useless, as all that comes out is a jumbled slur. Then his head falls forward, and he crumples in a heap at Batman’s feet.

Bruce swallows, staring at Jason’s motionless form. He bends down and gently takes his son’s wrist in his hand, checking Jason’s pulse. Satisfied that it’s normal, Bruce gathers up Jason’s body and slings it over his shoulders. He turns to Tim, who is staring at the two of them with wide eyes.

“Take the man outside and leave him with the guards,” orders Bruce. “I’ll meet you at the Batmobile in five minutes.”

Biting his lip, Tim nods. He opens his mouth to speak, but Bruce is already ascending the stairs, no doubt heading to the rooftop so as to better escape unseen. Tim glances at the door Jason had come from; through its small window he can see that the flames have finally caught up to them. They’re out of time. With a horrible feeling pooling in his gut, Tim pulls the prisoner over his back and begins the descent to the prison courtyard.

Ten minutes later, the entirety of the West Wing is engulfed in fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had a really hard time with this chapter. Adding the Robins (especially my fanfic-altered Robins) into the Arkham Asylum game has become a tad more difficult that I had originally thought it would be, due to the multiple character development threads I’ve been trying to go into, as well as actually, you know, doing the game’s plot. So if this chapter seems a bit sloppy, that’s because I just wasn’t sure where to go with it. But I’m feeling a bit more on track now. :)
> 
> And, as I said at the beginning of this story, this will NOT be a direct adaption of the game. It’s going to be pretty different due to the Robins’ involvement, so just…heads up on that.
> 
> Another side note: I debated whether or not Jason should actually kill in this chapter SO MUCH and finally decided on Bruce coming just in time. Reason being, I honestly don’t think Bruce would trust Jason enough to work with him later in this story if Jason had killed. And I need Jason to still be able to, you know, be IN the story (and not locked up), hence why he was stopped in time.
> 
> Geez, I talk a lot. Sorry haha.


	7. Chapter 7

“…don’t care what…”

“…cannot simply…”

“…needs…”

Familiar voices seep into the muggy haze Jason drifts through, giving him something to anchor onto in the darkness. He lays there for long minute, trying to make sense of the indiscernible words. Whoever is speaking, they are doing so in hushed tones. This makes it even harder for Jason to try and understand them, which irritates him. Frowning, he begins to shift, struggling to push his way back to consciousness.

“…Jason? Jason?”

Breathing deeply, Jason opens his eyes.

He’s back in his room. He had been put into his bed and covered with a thin sheet, with multiple pillows propped up behind him. His armor had been relieved of him, and all he wears now is pajama pants and a plain t-shirt. Slowly, Jason moves his gaze about the room until it falls on Bruce and Alfred, who are standing off to the side of the bed.

Jason blinks heavily, giving his eyesight time to focus. “Bla’gate…” he slurs.

“The fire is under control now,” Bruce says grimly. “Three prisoners and a security guard died in it, but fortunately that was the extent of the fatal causalities.”

Alfred holds out a glass of water, helping Jason take a drink. The water is much welcomed, soothing his throat and clearing his head of the aftereffects of the drug-induced sleep. Feeling more coherent, Jason pushes himself into a sitting position.

Glancing between the two, Alfred frowns ever so slightly. It’s clear he’d like to say something, but he seems to understand the need for Bruce to talk to Jason alone. “I’m going to check on Master Dick, sir,” Alfred says to Bruce. “I’ll be downstairs if either of you need me.”

Bruce nods, not taking his eyes off of Jason. “Thank you, Alfred.”

As Alfred leaves the room, Jason focuses his eyes on the far wall, anger growing within him as the seconds pass in silence. Bruce keeps his body still, so as not to betray any of the apprehension he feels as he speaks. “Jason, you are being confined to your room for the rest of the night.”

The muscles in Jason’s jaw tense, and he refuses to look at Bruce.

A frown slips onto Bruce’s mouth. “I cannot trust you, not after what you pulled. Your room will be in the highest security lockdown while Tim and I are out on patrol. When I get back, we’ll decide what to do from there.”

Finally, Jason turns his gaze to Bruce. “So I’m a prisoner.”

“Don’t exaggerate, Jason,” says Bruce. “You’re being punished, yes. But you’re staying in your room; it’s not as though you’re being locked up in one of the holding cells in the Batcave.”

Jason’s face scrunches up in annoyance. He twists the bedsheet covering his legs in one hand, his knuckles turning white with the tightness of his grip. “You drugged me,” he says.

Bruce shifts slightly at the accusation. “You gave me no choice. You were out of control.”

Jason gives a small shake of his head. “No. No, I knew _exactly_ what I was doing.”

“And what was that, Jason?” snaps Bruce. “Taking a man’s life?”

“Yes,” Jason says fiercely. “That’s exactly what is was. If you had let me finish, there would be one less animal on the streets of Gotham, and less victims in the long run.”

“He was in prison.”

“He would’ve gotten out soon enough, either by breaking out or by being released.” Jason grits his teeth. “You know that, Bruce.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Bruce says. “What you were about to do…” He growls, clenching his fists. “Jason, we _don’t_ do that. How else are we supposed to differentiate ourselves from the criminals?”

“I’ve heard that excuse _so_ many times from you and everyone else here. It’s such a pathetic argument it makes me want to vomit,” says Jason. He throws back the sheet, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “How selfish are you that you would sacrifice innocent lives for the sake of keeping your hands clean? If you’re that paranoid about it, maybe you shouldn’t have gotten into this vigilante thing in the first place. Because the truth is, if you _really_ want to help people, once in a while you’re going to have to do some dirty things. That’s just how it is.”

“How can you say that, Jason? How you can justify murder?” Bruce throws his hands out in frustration, terror gripping him at hearing his own son speaking like this. “Have you lost your _mind?”_

“Yes, Bruce!” Jason shouts. “I’ve _lost my mind!_ Is that what you want me to say? Would that give you relief, to think that this isn’t _really_ me, but is a result of Joker’s torture? Is _that_ what you want to hear? Because that’s not the truth. That’s not what this is.” Jason stands, looking absolutely livid. “This is about the hundreds, _thousands_ , of people I’ve watch suffer because of Gotham’s criminals, before, during, and after my time as Robin. This is about the kids like me, who have no one to protect them when the bad people come. You have no _idea_ what it’s like to be so helpless. What it’s like to not be able to even find refuge from your own _father._ Those kids, those people – who is going to keep them safe? _You?”_

“I try to,” Bruce says tightly.

“You try to,” spits Jason. “Well what do you do about the criminals who _aren’t_ afraid of you? What do you do to stop the ones who know you won’t kill? Their lives aren’t at stake, and they _know_ it, so they continue doing what they’re doing.” Jason grits his teeth. “My dad came home from jail once and showed my mom this fresh scar you had given him with a Batarang before locking him up. And you know what he did? He _laughed._ He _boasted_ about how he had faced off with the Batman and now had proof to show to his friends. He was _proud_ of it, Bruce.” Jason’s lips curl into an expression of utter disgust. “His run-in with you didn’t change a damn thing. A couple of beers later and he was already shouting at my mom. I yelled back at him, trying to defend her, and he beat me. Then he locked me out of the apartment for two days.”

Bruce’s hands clench, but he doesn’t speak.

“There was no remorse in his eyes that night,” sneers Jason. “He had learned no lesson from you. And he never would have. But now that he’s dead, he can’t hurt anyone else.” Snarling, Jason kicks out at a pile of books lying on the floor. The books go flying into the air, pages fluttering about, ripped from their spines. “There are hundreds more kids in Gotham with similar stories to mine. And their abusers aren’t afraid of you, Bruce.” He violently throws his arm towards his window, throughout which the distant lights of Gotham’s skyline can be seen. “Those foster kids wouldn’t be the hospital right now if we had done our job _right_ and taken care of Joker and Harley years ago. Seven kids and two volunteers would still be _alive._ Why don’t you _get_ it? Why can’t you get that through your thick head?”

“Killing is not doing a job _right_ , Jason,” grinds out Bruce. “It’s succumbing to the gravity of Gotham. It’s allowing yourself to be molded by the violence and hatred.”

“Gotham’s gravity is suffocating the good people who live within it,” Jason retorts. “They can’t hold out forever. Your methods _aren’t_ working – we have to do more.”

“We do everything we can within our power, and within our _morals_ , Jason,” says Bruce. “That’s all that we can do.”

“Then you’re a coward!” Jason says viciously.

Bruce presses his lips together, struggling to keep his composure. “There is no bravery in taking a life, Jason.”

“Would you have done it to save me?”

Bruce freezes at that. “What?”

Jason braces himself as he speaks next, as though afraid to ask. “If you had known what would happen to me, if you had known Joker would take me, _torture_ me, for nine months, would you have killed him? Before he could have done it?”

Bruce is silent. He watches Jason, who is staring back at him with an unwavering gaze. The rage is gone from Jason’s eyes; all that encompasses them now is a pleading desperation.

Long seconds pass.

Bruce opens his mouth weakly, and for a moment nothing comes out. “I…I don’t know,” he finally admits. Shame washes through him as he speaks; he knows it’s not the answer his son wants, but he truly cannot think of anything else to say. Because he doesn’t know the answer himself.

The glimmer of hope fades from Jason’s eyes, and angry tears well in them instead. “Get out, Bruce,” he says, the quiet fury in his voice scorching.

“Jason…”

“ _Get. OUT!”_

A tense moment passes, and then Bruce turns and walks over to the door. He pauses, his hand gripping the doorknob. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. Then he leaves and locks the door behind him.

Letting out a vicious cry, Jason picks up the lamp sitting on his nightstand and throws it at the wall, shattering it. He kicks at his bed, knocking the mattress over a few inches, then snatches up the pillows on top and chucks them across the room. One knocks over his red guitar that had been propped up against the far wall; it topples over, the crash breaking strings and splintering wood. Jason is screaming, his throat scratching itself raw as he lets out years of frustration and misery.

_I’m not worth it. I’m not worth enough to break his damn rule._

He sees the picture of him and Bruce at Gotham High’s baseball field sitting on top of the nightstand. Grabbing it, Jason drops to his knees and violently smashes the picture against the floorboards. The glass shatters and Jason repeats the action, this time cracking the wooden frame. Subconsciously, he realizes how childish he’s being, but he can’t stop himself. If he doesn’t move, if he doesn’t tear _something_ apart with his hands, he’s certain he will be driven mad.

His hand clutching the picture rises and falls again and again, not stopping even when the broken glass shards slice into his skin and blood splatters across the floor he’s kneeling on.

_He would condemn me to nine months of torture rather than break his rule._

He doesn’t even register the pounding on his door.

“Jason? _Jason!_ Bruce, get up here! _Open this damn door!”_

The pounding grows more frantic, but Jason’s destruction of the picture continues. Soon there is hardly any frame left, and then Jason is crumpling the picture in his hands, his blood staining its edges.

There’s the sound of the security system unlocking, and then the door slams open. Thudding footsteps approach Jason and someone crouches down beside him; a hand touches Jason’s shoulder and he jerks away, letting out a fierce snarl as he throws his fist forward.

Tim lurches back, barely managing to avoid Jason’s punch. Upon recognizing who had come into his room Jason pauses, staring at Tim with wide eyes.

“Jason…” Tim says brokenly.

Jason drops his eyes to the smashed picture frame, his gaze following the smears of blood. A shaky breath escapes him and he bends over, curling in on himself.

Tim leans forward and wraps his arms around Jason’s shoulders, drawing him close. “It’s okay, Jason,” whispers Tim.

Bruce stands in the doorway, watching silently. He desperately wants to be by Jason’s side, but he doesn’t go into the room, as he knows it would only make everything worse.

Jason and Tim stay on the floor for a long time. Eventually Jason sits back against his bed, resigned to just staring down at his bloody hands in his lap.

“We need to bandage your hands, Jason,” Tim says quietly.

Jason doesn’t move.

Feeling uneasy at Jason’s lack of reaction, Tim hurries to Jason’s bathroom and grabs the needed supplies from the medicine cabinet. He dresses Jason’s wounds in silence, with Jason continuing to simply stare ahead blankly.

The moment the final wrapping is put in place, Bruce gestures towards the hall. “Tim,” he says. “It’s time to go.”

Tim tilts his head down, trying to get in Jason’s line of sight. But Jason hardly even notices the younger boy, whose shoulders droop in dejection. Tim looks up at Bruce pleadingly. “Bruce…”

“ _Now_ , Tim.”

Tim shakes his head. “I’m staying here.”

That catches Jason’s attention. He lifts his head, surprise flickering in his eyes as they watch Tim.

A frown crosses Bruce’s face. “Jason cannot leave this room. You, however, are needed back on patrol.”

“Go by yourself,” snaps Tim.

Bruce grinds his teeth. “I don’t have time for this, Tim. Come on.”

“Just go, Tim,” Jason mutters.

“Jason –” begins Tim.

“ _Go_.”

Tim reluctantly gets to his feet; he makes his way to the door, glaring at Bruce as he leaves the room. Unease coils in Bruce’s chest as he watches Jason wrap his arms around his legs and bury his face in them. His movements hesitant, Bruce shuts the door and reactivates the security system, releasing a heavy sigh as the locks click into place.

Tim is already in the elevator, not bothering to wait for Bruce before descending to the Batcave. Alone in the hallway, Bruce leans against the wall and presses his hand over his eyes.

He’s locked Jason up. He’s imprisoned his son, after he had been the very one to free Jason from captivity a year ago.

_What have I done?_

He has never felt this unsure before, so completely at a loss as of what to do. He’s lost his son yet again, and this time he’s not sure the damage can be fixed.


	8. Chapter 8

“You _locked_ him up?” exclaims Dick. “Are you insane, Bruce?”

Dick had woken not long ago, feeling more coherent than he had in hours. Alfred had been in the cave then, and had filled him in on what had happened with Jason. By the time Bruce had come down from Jason’s room, now dressed in his Batman suit, Dick was equally both frantic and angry.

Standing before his eldest son now, Bruce feels automatic defense snap into place. After the fight with Jason, Bruce had spent awhile alone in the hallway composing himself. During that time, he had assured himself of the necessity of confining Jason to his room, no matter how much Jason may feel betrayed by it. As for his answer to Jason’s final question though…of that he was still unsure. Even now, as he defends his actions to Dick, it dominates his thoughts.

Dick shakes his head in disbelief. “After Jason had spent _nine months_ a prisoner, after all we had to do to earn his trust back…” Dick’s muscles tense as he pushes himself away from the hospital bed he had been leaning on. “How _could_ you, Bruce?”

“He is a danger to himself and others,” says Bruce. His eyes narrow menacingly. “He made his choice.”

“He’s a traumatized boy who never should have been allowed to go back on patrol in the first place,” Dick snaps.

“You seemed rather open to the idea when he first started out as the Gotham Knight,” Bruce says heatedly.

Dick clenches his fists. “And I was an idiot for thinking it would be okay. We both were. But he needs _help_ , Bruce. He’s still having psychotherapy sessions with Dr. Leslie, for God’s sake! He’s not stable enough to be out there.”

“ _Exactly!_ Which is why I had to do this.”

“You didn’t have to lock him up!”

“He would have escaped the Manor yet again, and done more damage.”

“‘Escaped’?” Dick says in disgust. “You make this place sound like a freaking prison, Bruce. It’s supposed to be a _home_. _Jason’s_ home. His sanctuary from everything that had happened to him. And now it’s no better than Arkham Asylum, thanks to _you._ ”

Bruce lets out a furious snarl and takes a step towards Dick, raising his fist. But the next second he freezes, his eyes falling on the bandages enwrapping Dick’s arm and torso. He slowly backs off, though the rage does not lesson in his eyes.

“Don’t you dare,” Bruce seethes. “Don’t you dare compare this place to that hellhole.”

Dick scrunches up his nose at Bruce in detestation. “I’m not the one locking his sons away.”

With a low growl, Bruce spins around and walks over to the computer station. He slams his palms upon the desk’s surface, staring up into the monitors with a hardening gaze. A long silence fills the gap between the two of them, broken only by the occasional scuttling of bats deep within the shadows of the cave. When Bruce speaks next, his voice is much more subdued. Weary almost.

“I don’t know what else to do with him.”

Dick’s shoulders sag with a sudden sadness. “Isolating him isn’t going to help anything, Bruce. We need to talk to him.”

“We’ve tried making Jason see reason countless times before,” Bruce says. “Why should this time be any different? _Especially_ now?”

Dick bites his lip. “We have to try.” He holds out a hand imploringly. “Let _me_ try.”

Bruce shakes his head. “No.”

“ _Bruce._ ”

“ _No._ No one is going to see him until I get back from patrol.”

“He’s my _brother_ , Bruce,” Dick says. “You can’t keep me from him.”

“And I’m his _father_ ,” retorts Bruce. “He’s staying in his room. Alone.”

Dick grits his teeth. Sudden worry flashes in his eyes, though the anger remains. “And what if he tries something? After everything that’s happened…someone needs to be watching him.”

In answer, Bruce types a command into the computer’s keyboard. A video tab opens up on the far left monitor, showing live footage of Jason’s room. Surrounded by broken glass and blood, Jason still sits on the floor against his bed, his head in his arms.

Dick’s eyes widen at the sight of his brother in the destroyed room. “Let me in there, Bruce,” he demands.

“No.”

“Bruce, I swear –”

“The blood looks worse than it is,” cuts in Bruce. “It’s only small hand injuries, and they’ve been tended to.”

“You can’t just…” Dick chokes out, shock and rage on his face. He gestures to the video feed. “I didn’t even know you had this set up.” His eyes narrow. “You have hidden cameras in all of our rooms, don’t you?”

Bruce doesn’t answer.

Dick gives a bitter laugh. “Of course you do. Can’t even trust your own sons, huh?”

“It’s not about trust,” says Bruce. “It’s about looking out for you boys. I almost never use these cameras; they’re only for emergencies.”

“You can’t do this, Bruce,” Dick says furiously. “You can’t invade our privacy like that.”

Bruce raises an eyebrow. “I’m sure you’re grateful for it now, since you’ll be able to keep an eye on Jason.”

Dick’s jaw tightens. “It’s still an invasion. And you could just let me _be_ with him instead.”

“It’s not going to happen, Dick,” Bruce says firmly.

“ _Bruce_ –”

“So are we going or not?”

Bruce and Dick snap their heads towards the irritated voice. Tim stands in front of the elevators in his Robin uniform, watching them with his arms crossed. He looks no more pleased than any of them.

Tim’s gaze falls upon the computer monitor displaying footage of Jason’s room. “Oh you’ve got to be kidding me,” he says. “Are you serious Bruce? Now you’re _spying_ on us? What the _hell?”_

Bruce presses his lips together tightly. “As I’ve already explained to Dick…”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure it’s some crap excuse about protecting us, or something along those lines,” Tim snaps with a harsh wave of his hand. He begins walking over to the Batmobile. “Whatever. Let’s just go so we can get back here as soon as possible.”

Suddenly, a call alert goes off through the computer’s speakers. A new video tab opens up on the center monitor, and Barbara’s face comes into focus.

“Guys,” she says, her expression grave. “We’ve got a problem.”

“What is it, Barbara?” Dick asks.

Barbara gives a heavy sigh. “Well, due to the damage from the fire, Blackgate simply doesn’t have the room or resources to hold all of its prisoners at the moment. There wasn’t any other place for them to go to except Arkham. GCPD escorted one hundred and fifty-seven prisoners to Arkham an hour ago, eighteen of which were involved in the foster home fire earlier today. Eighty more of those prisoners have records of working for the Joker in the past.”

Barbara shakes her head grimly. “Not long after they were all checked into Arkham, seven inmates broke loose on their way to their cells. In the chaos, one of the prisoners managed to override one of the security systems and opened a dozen cells, including both Joker and Harley’s. They got out, and are currently missing somewhere within Arkham.”

Dick groans, rubbing a hand across his face. “Fantastic. Because this day wasn’t already exciting enough.”

Bruce frowns. “Are you sure Joker and Harley haven’t somehow gotten off the island already?”

Barbara shakes her head. “It doesn’t look that way. The island’s border security tightened significantly the moment word reached them of the break out. They haven’t reported any signs of either of them.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean they haven’t escaped,” Bruce mutters. He rubs his chin, thinking. “Barbara, I need you to make sure everything we have on Arkham’s layouts, employee and patient records, and medical files are up-to-date and on stand-by for us to have access to at any time. And keep your communication line open. Tim and I will leave immediately; we should be at Arkham within fifteen minutes.”

“Got it,” says Barbara. She ends the video call, plunging the screen into blackness.

Bruce turns to Dick. “Dick, I need you to stay here.”

“What?” exclaims Dick. “No way, Bruce. I’m coming with.”

“Tim and I can handle this. You’re still injured –”

“It is _hardly_ bad enough to keep me out of the field.”

Bruce shakes his head. “That aside, I need you to keep an eye on Jason.”

“Alfred is here.”

“I need _you_ to stay,” Bruce says. “Jason is smart, and he’s good at what he does. Despite the security measures I’ve put in place, he may still have a chance of somehow getting out. And if he does, you need to be here to stop him.”

“Again, with making this place sound like a prison.”

Bruce gives a look of both exhaustion and irritation. “Just do it, Dick.”

Dick scowls. “Fine. I’ll stay – for Jason. Not for you.”

Bruce’s frown doesn’t let up, but nevertheless, the relief at Dick’s consent is obvious. “Thank you.” Bruce pulls his cowl over his face. “Let’s go, Tim.” Giving Dick a stern look, he turns and heads towards the Batplane.

Tim begins to follow, but is stopped by Dick’s hand on his shoulder. He looks up at Dick, who is watching him with a nervous expression. “Be careful, Tim.”

Tim nods, trying to suppress the sudden anxiety creeping up within him. Something is not right – he can feel it. But he keeps his expression void of the apprehension, hoping it’s just the aftereffects of everything that’s already happened today. “Of course,” he replies. “And…don’t let Jason do anything stupid.”

“Honestly, between the Joker and an upset Jason, I think you got the better end of the deal,” Dick says teasingly. But his smile doesn’t quite fill out, and the joke falls flat, not feeling nearly as light-hearted as Dick’s usual quips.

Tim grimaces, wondering if Dick feels the same odd sensation he’s experiencing.

Something is definitely not right.

Dick gives Tim’s shoulder a final pat, then gently nudges the younger boy in the direction of the Batplane. _Please be safe_ , he thinks, watching as Tim hurries over to the narrow runway. Seconds later, the plane is roaring out of the cave.

“Master Dick?”

Dick turns to see Alfred coming out of the main elevator, worry on his face. He’s holding a tray weighed down with three coffee-filled mugs. Dick walks over to Alfred, taking the tray from him and gently setting it down on worktable in the medical bay.

“Are you alright?” Alfred asks.

Dick sighs. “I suppose so. I just…I hope we can all still say that by the end of tonight.”

Alfred pats Dick on the back comfortingly. Dick smiles softly at the butler, and then the two go over to the computer. They seat themselves and begin pulling up anything that may be of use for Barbara, Bruce, and Tim. In one corner of the monitors, a tab shows live video feed from Bruce and Tim’s head cameras. In the other, Jason still sits unmoving.

/

Ten minutes later, the Batplane crosses West Beach and begins flying over the murky waters separating Gotham from Arkham Island. Bruce expertly guides the plane through thick clouds covering the night sky; in the distance, the lights of Arkham Aslyum peak their way through the mist.

As they approach the island, Tim can no longer hold back the question that’s been bothering him from the moment he had first left Jason’s room back at Wayne Manor.

Tim bites his lip, bracing himself as he speaks. “What if Jason does something while we’re at Arkham?”

Bruce’s already tense posture seems to intensify, and he doesn’t answer for a moment. “If he does, Alfred and Dick are there.”

“But what if he hurts himself?” presses Tim. “What if he has another panic attack?”

The muscle twitch in Bruce’s neck is not missed by Tim. “Like I said,” Bruce says. “Alfred and Dick are there.”

Tim frowns, clearly not happy with that answer.

There’s a beat of silence.

“Tim,” Bruce says. “I need you to be on your guard tonight. More so than ever before.”

“I’m always –”

“I’m serious, Tim,” says Bruce. “Where we’re going, the…patients you’ll be surrounded by – you _have_ to be on high alert at all times. There can be no slip-ups tonight – especially with the Joker on the loose.” He looks over at Tim. “You stay by my side at all times, do you understand me? You do _not_ leave my sight for one minute.”

“Bruce, I can handle –”

“ _No_ , Tim. Tonight is different. You will stay with me _every second_ we are on that island. That’s an order.”

Tim stares at Bruce in surprise. He’s never seen Bruce look so…agitated before. Not afraid, exactly, but there’s a definite hint of apprehension there. It unnerves Tim. He wonders if Bruce feels it too – that nagging sense of something not quite being right.

Tim’s hand curls around one of the straps holding him into his seat. He doesn’t want to ask, for fear of Bruce’s reaction, but it’s a necessary question. “Bruce, do you think…” He sucks in a nervous breath. “Do you think the Joker is hiding where…he kept Jason?”

For a horrible moment, the image of the dark room stained with Jason’s blood flashes in front of Bruce’s eyes. “No,” he says quietly. “You know very well that I went back the night after I rescued Jason, and I personally sealed off the abandoned wing of Arkham.” Bruce’s grip on the plane’s yoke tightens. “There’s no way Joker could get back in there.”

Tim isn’t so sure of that, but he keeps silent, knowing that pursuing the matter will do no good.

They’re closing in on Arkham Island fast. Bruce reaches out, pressing the button that opens up the communications lines.

“This is Batman to Arkham Tower A,” he says into the mic. “Requesting permission to land.”

/

“Batman, Robin, I thought you’d show up.”

Batman nods at Commissioner Gordon, who had come out to meet them as they had landed on the southern beach of the island. At first, Arkham’s Warden, Quincy Sharp, had vehemently tried to deny Batman access to land, insisting that they had the matter under control, but Gordon stepped in and fortunately was able to convince the warden to give Batman clearance. Fifteen guards flank Gordon now, all armed and on high alert as they walk across the beach to Batman and Robin.

“What have you learned, Gordon?” Batman asks, ignoring the circling men. The group begins to make their way back towards the south entrance of Arkham Asylum, where more guards wait at the outer doors.

“About Joker or Quinn’s location? Not much,” Gordon admits grimly. “Including the original seven who had gotten loose, nineteen inmates total had escaped. We’ve rounded up all of them except Joker and Harley; they’re nowhere to be found.”

“ _No one_ knows where they’ve gone?” Robin says in disbelief. “With all the cameras in Arkham, I find that a little hard to believe.”

“So do I.” Gordon lowers his voice. “As much as I hate to suggest it, they may have had some help from an Arkham employee.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Batman says darkly.

The doors to the south entrance open, allowing access. The group enters the dimly lit hallway, together making their way into the depths of the winding halls. They are then led to the main check-in station inmates must go through before being brought to their holding cells. As they enter the station, Warden Sharp comes out from one of the offices.

“Batman,” Warden Sharp says stiffly. He does not hold out his hand in greeting; instead, he sends a disapproving glance Robin’s way. “I see that you’re still bringing your…young partner along.”

“Robin is more than capable of handling himself,” Batman says, his eyes narrowing.

The warden gives a sharp, dismissive wave of his hand. “I will not be holding responsibility for anything that happens to either of you in here. Just so you’re aware.”

Batman glares down at the warden with clear distaste. “I need to take a look at Joker’s cell.”

Gordon glances at the warden. Warden Sharp shrugs, then turns and beckons them to follow. They go through the guard gate sealing off the holding cells corridor, and the iron doors clang shut behind them as they enter the B Holding Cells – the section Joker had been held in.

Voices rumble from the surrounding darkness as they proceed. Shadowed forms shift behind the barred windows in the cell doors, and once in a while a hand presses up against the glass for a few seconds before sliding back into the blackness.

“It’s the Batman…” comes a whisper.

“Batman…” hisses another.

“He’s here…”

“And he’s brought his little sidekick too…”

The murmuring increases in volume, but Robin only holds his head higher in defiance of them as he walks alongside Batman. They turn a corner, and stop before an empty, open cell.

Freshly spray-painted on the back wall is a wide smile.

Warden Sharp steps back in horror. “Impossible. We had re-locked Joker’s cell to keep it closed until he was found. No one should have been able to get in here.”

Batman looks about them, suspicion rising within him as he moves closer to Robin.

Suddenly, the sound of the emergency locks on the security door at the end of the corridor clank loudly into place.

“What the hell?” Warden Sharp says, spinning around at the sound.

Shouts can be heard from the security guards on the other side of the door as they frantically try to get it back open.

Above Gordon’s head, a security footage monitor hanging from the ceiling crackles to life. Static covers the screen for a moment, but then it clears away to show the Joker standing in front of a filthy looking wall.

“Welcome to the madhouse, Batman!” the Joker exclaims gleefully. He throws his arms wide, looking positively thrilled. “I set a trap, and you sprang it _gloriously!”_ His eyes fall upon Robin, who glares back at the clown furiously. “And I see you brought one of your little birds! How delightful – the more the merrier, I always say.”

Suddenly the sound of dozens of iron doors being unlocked echoes throughout the corridor. Batman and Robin spin around, unable to do anything but watch as every cell door in the hallway swings open.

Cries of triumph erupt from the cells, and one by one, the prisoners occupying them step into the corridor. In a matter of seconds, Warden Sharp, Gordon, Batman, and Robin are surrounded.

Joker lets out a laugh. “Now let’s get this party started!”


	9. Chapter 9

They only have seconds to prepare themselves before the inmates attack. Then it’s complete chaos.

Prisoner after prisoner comes at the four of them, an unstoppable wave of violence. Both Warden Sharp and Gordon are armed with stun guns, and though it helps somewhat to fend off a few of the attackers, it is hardly enough to take on the mass as a whole. Robin’s bo staff whips through the air impossibly fast, smacking aside prisoners and knocking them to the ground with a determined ferocity. Batarangs fly from Batman’s hands with exact precision, bringing down some of the inmates that come too close to Robin, Sharp, or Gordon, while he simultaneously takes out other prisoners using bodily attacks.

" _Ladies and maniacs, I apologize for this interruption to your regular entertainment._ "

Joker’s voice echoes out from the hall speakers, carrying over the sounds of the fight.

" _Up until a few seconds ago, I was going to kill everyone in the room and then watch cartoons, but then...well...you know how I do love a captive audience._ "

“Doesn’t he –” Robin grinds out, knocking an inmate back before smacking him over the head with his bo staff. “– ever shut up?”

Batman doesn’t reply. He crouches and spins, kicking the legs of two prisoners out from beneath them. Straightening, Batman studies the end of the corridor opposite of where he and Robin had originally come from with Gordon and Sharp. The electric security gates are still in place, locking them in from both sides of the hallway. He eyes the edges of the gates for anything he might be able to rewire to get them to open, but before he can look any further, thick arms warp around him from behind and lift him into the air.

Batman twists viciously, kicking his boots backwards into the shins of the inmate. But the burly man hardly seems to feel Batman’s attack and instead lets out a low growl, throwing Batman down and slamming him to the floor. Batman grunts at the impact, and his body rolls across the ground a few feet. Shaking his head, Batman lifts his gaze to see the prisoner advancing towards him menacingly.

/

“This whole thing was a trap,” Dick says in horror, helpless to do anything but watch through Bruce and Tim’s masks’ cameras as they fight off dozens of Arkham inmates. “And we fell for it.”

Alfred straightens, struggling to hide his own franticness. “We must stay focused, Master Dick,” he says. “As long as we are in contact with –”

Suddenly, the video and audio footage linking them to Bruce and Tim cuts out, plunging the screen into silent blackness.

Dick and Alfred blink, both equally stunned. A moment passes, and then Dick hurriedly types a command into the computer to bring up Bruce and Tim’s mask cameras. The program doesn’t respond.

“What the…” Dick mutters. Panic rises in him as the computer continues to reject his repeated attempts at rebooting the program.

Seconds tick by, and then a new video tab opens in the center monitor, revealing an anxious looking Barbara.

“Barbara!” exclaims Dick. “What happened? Did your feed from Bruce and Tim cut out too?”

Barbara nods. “Yeah. It looks like all communication signals from Arkham Island are being cut off. I’m completely shut out.”

“So there’s no way to contact Bruce and Tim?” Dick asks.

Barbara lifts her hand in an uncertain gesture. “I think I might be able to connect back to them, but it will take a while to break through the firewalls put up. Whoever Joker hired to do this, they’re good.”

“How long will it take?”

“Thirty minutes? Maybe more?”

Dick groans.

“And…” Barbara shifts in her wheelchair uncomfortably. “There’s more. Harley sent a message to GCPD ten minutes ago. She says that there are bombs planted throughout Gotham, and if anyone tries to get onto or leave Arkham Island, she and Joker will detonate them.”

Dick stares at Barbara in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he finally sputters out. He runs his hands through his hair, shaking his head. “This just keeps getting better and better.” Letting out a heavy puff of air, he paces in a circle, thinking. “Okay, Harley might be bluffing about those bombs. But in case she’s not, I need to find a way to get onto that island without being detected.”

“Got any ideas?” Barbara asks.

Dick stops pacing, suddenly looking incredibly uneasy. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “But I really wish I had a better one.”

/

The prisoner that had thrown Batman stands above the Dark Knight, looking down with a cocky grin. He raises his foot to slam it down on Batman’s face, but before he can, Robin jumps onto him from behind and locks his bo staff beneath the man’s jaw.

Robin yanks the bo staff backwards and the man instantly staggers along with it, choking. Not wasting an instant, Batman springs up and delivers a hard kick to the man’s stomach. The inmate stumbles back, and Robin uses his hold on his bo staff to give him leverage to flip over the man’s head. As he somersaults through the air he twists and gives the prisoner a hard kick to the jaw, snapping the man’s head back and sending him crashing to the ground.

“Robin!” Batman shouts, throwing out his arm. Robin immediately reaches towards Batman, and they grasp each other’s wrists. Batman then swings Robin outwards in an arc, giving the boy enough speed and power to effectively take out two more prisoners with swift kicks to the face.

“Where’s Commissioner Gordon?” Robin asks as he lands. “And the warden?”

Batman glances about them. “There,” he nods, pulling out his grappling hook.

On the other side of the chaos, Gordon is being held against the chest of one prisoner while another repeatedly punches him in the gut. Warden Sharp is a few feet away, pressed up against a cell door as he holds out his stun gun at approaching prisoners.

Batman shoots the grappling hook into the ceiling and uses it to swing over the heads of prisoners; he slams his feet into the man attacking Gordon, sending him flying into the far wall. Releasing the grappling hook, Batman pulls out a Batarang and throws it forward. The weapon strikes the man holding Gordon in the head, and he collapses to the ground, pulling Gordon down with him. Lunging forward, Batman grasps onto Gordon’s arm and tugs him upright.

“Thanks,” Gordon says breathlessly.

Suddenly, the main security gate opens, and at least forty guards come streaming into the corridors, shouting orders to cease and raising their stun guns. Some of the prisoners pause in surprise at the sudden appearance of the guards, but most of them charge forward with a new ferocity.

“ _Oh, phooey! I hate it when the fun gets spoiled like that_ ,” exclaims the Joker, peering out curiously from the security monitor. “ _Well, no matter. Bats! Why don’t you come and give me a proper welcome?_ ”

Batman turns his head towards the opposite end of the corridor. The next moment, the electric gates shut down, clearing the passageway leading further into Arkham.

After delivering a sharp punch to an inmate, Robin immediately charges forward through the open gates.

“Robin!” Batman shouts. “Don’t!” Shooting his grappling hook, he propels himself back over the crowd of prisoners and security guards. Taking out a prisoner in his landing, he rolls forward and jumps to his feet, running after Robin. The moment Batman crosses through the gates, they buzz back on, cutting off Batman and Robin from the rest of the crowd.

Batman and Robin spin around at the sound of the reclosing gates, unable to do anything but watch as the guards force the inmates into submission. As the guards round up the prisoners, Batman breaks off the lid to the electric box built into the wall beside the security gate and begins trying to manually force the gate back open.

Fortunately, with the sheer number of them giving the guards a much needed advantage, soon things seem to be under control within the prisoner corridor. Giving the mostly rounded up prisoners a vicious glare, Gordon turns and rushes over to the electric security gate separating him from Batman and Robin.

Glancing up at Gordon, Batman shakes his head. “It’s odd, I can’t open it from the security pad here,” he says. “I _should_ be able to, but there seems to be a backup lock in place that covers even the manual switch.”

Gordon snaps his head around to the guards behind him. “Someone gets these gates open!”

One of the guards runs forward, raising a small systems control tablet in his hand for Gordon, Batman, and Robin to see. “I can’t! The system's jammed! We had a little bit of control a few minutes ago, which is how we were able to get the first gate open, but now…” He shakes his head and taps at the tablet’s screen in frustration. “It’s not going to happen. We’re stuck; it looks like Joker's in full control of the security gates now."

" _Right-a-roo!_ ” comes in Joker’s voice through the hallway speakers. “ _I'm in control of the Asylum now. You're not going anywhere I don't want you to. Especially you, Bats. Understand?_ "

Batman grits his teeth. “If you think I’ll let you run…”

" _Blah, blah, blah. Always with the hero speak! I'm getting bored of watching you.”_ The Joker gives a sinister chuckle. “ _Why don't you just come find me…_ " Then the speakers turn to static.

Batman looks at Gordon. “Will you be alright?”

Gordon glances back at the subdued prisoners. “Sure, no problem.” His gaze flits past Batman, staring into the dark hallway beyond with unease. “You _know_ it’s a trap, right?”

“Of course it is,” Batman says darkly.

Gordon presses his lips together, though he knows he can do nothing. Silent, Batman turns and nods at Robin, and together the two head into the depths of Arkham Asylum.

/

Dick rushes back over to the computer and begins opening up dozens of archive files.

Alfred frowns, stepping forward. “Master Dick, what are you doing?”

“Pulling up Bruce’s security codes,” Dick says. “He’s got to have a hidden file in here somewhere with the codes for the security system on Jason’s room. I’m going to Arkham, and I’m taking Jason with me.”

“And how is bringing along Master Jason going to aid you?”

Dick grimaces. “I…I’m hoping he might…know another way in.” He pauses, shame coiling within him as he glances at Alfred. “I know this is the last thing I should be asking of Jason. I feel like crap even considering it. But…we’re out of options. And I need backup on this. I need Jason.”

Alfred is silent for a moment. Then he nods. “If you are certain this is the best way to get into Arkham Asylum, then I will not dissuade you from it.”

Dick’s hands clench, hovering over the keyboard. He gives a quick nod, as though to reassure himself, and he continues to type commands into the computer.

“However,” Alfred says. “I believe it would be more efficient to simply allow me to unlock the security system.”

Dick pauses and looks over at Alfred in surprise. “What?”

“You don’t think Master Bruce would leave without giving me the codes to Master Jason’s room, do you?” Alfred gives a wry smile. “Come now, Master Dick.”

Dick’s mouth drops open slightly as Alfred ushers him up out of his seat. “Let’s get a move on then; we’re wasting time.”

With Alfred in the lead, the two of them hurry upstairs. Upon reaching Jason’s door, Alfred flips open the camouflaged security pad hidden within the wallpaper on the left side of the doorframe. He presses his hand to the revealed touchscreen, allowing it to recognize his prints. A security screen is pulled up, and Alfred presses in the correct code. The sounds of the heavy locks sliding out of place can be heard dully through the hard wood of the door. Dick’s hand is already pressed against the door, and the moment the final click echoes he gives it a heavy shove, swinging it open.

The room is still a disaster. Even more so now, as dozens of books have been tossed to the floor in large piles. Standing amongst them is Jason, who is fiddling with wires torn up from the spot in his bookcase where _The Case-Book of Sherlock Holmes_ used to sit. Jason is winding two of the wires around each other, his concentration heavy as he flips his gaze from the bookshelf to the opening to his personal elevator. The hidden doorway has moved about five inches out so far, revealing only a glimpse of the old-fashioned elevator behind it.

“Jason?” Dick says hesitantly. He takes a step forward.

Jason’s hands tighten on the wires at the sudden voice. Slowly, he turns to face Dick and Alfred. “Dick?” he says in quiet surprise.

After all that has happened today, the simple sight of his brother almost makes Dick forget his reason for coming. He rushes forward, pulling Jason into a fierce embrace before Jason has a chance to properly react.

“Jason, I’m so sorry,” whispers Dick. He tightens his arms around the younger boy. “I tried to convince Bruce to let you out, but he was being a complete ass, and…are your hands you okay?” Dick pulls back, keeping his hands on Jason’s arms as he studies his brother. “Tell me you’re okay.”

Despite his relief at seeing Dick, the misery encompassing Jason does not lesson. “I’ve been better,” he admits in a soft voice.

Dick presses a hand to the side of Jason’s head comfortingly. “Whatever Bruce said to you – he’s an idiot. We’re going to fix all of this, okay?”

A bitter sadness mixes in Jason’s eyes at the mention of Bruce. “Sure, Dick,” he mumbles.

Dick grimaces at the expression on Jason’s face. Then his attention diverts to the torn up bookcase behind Jason. “Geez…you’ve been busy.”

Jason glances back at the mess. “Yeah. I just got…tired of sitting.”

“Actually, I’m impressed you got that far,” admits Dick. “That security system is a hard one to beat.”

Jason shrugs. Then he blinks, giving Dick and Alfred curious looks. “Wait, what are you guys doing here? Does Bruce know you’re here?”

“Not exactly…” Dick rubs the back of his neck nervously. “We’ve got a problem.”

Jason frowns. “What?”

Dick exchanges a look with Alfred. “Well, after the fire at Blackgate, over a hundred prisoners were transferred to Arkham, since there was nowhere else for them to go. Long story short, some men got loose while being checked in and they managed to break out Joker and Harley. Now those two are missing in Arkham somewhere.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Jason moans, pressing a hand to his forehead.

“It gets worse,” says Dick. “Bruce and Tim went to Arkham and help recapture Joker and Harley, but when they got there…” Dick pauses, utter shame pooling within his eyes. “We were so stupid. We should have seen it coming; it’s so obvious now, looking back…”

“What?” Jason asks anxiously. “What is it, Dick?”

Dick grits his teeth. “It was a trap. Bruce and Tim got there – with us watching through their mask cameras – and once they got to Joker’s cell, all hell broke loose. Joker was on the security monitors. He locked Bruce, Tim, Commissioner Gordon, and Warden Sharp in the cell corridor, and then…released the other inmates.”

“ _What?”_ exclaims Jason. “Where are they now? Where’s Tim? Is he still with Bruce?” He steps forward, grabbing Dick’s arm frantically. “ _Where’s Tim, Dick?”_

Dick gives Jason a worried look. “I…I don’t know. We got cut off from them; it’s a complete communications black-out – no video, audio, _nothing._ They were still fighting off the inmates when it happened.”

Jason folds his hands together and presses them against his mouth as he paces frantically. “ _Shit_.” He stops, looking back at Dick. “Barbara – she can’t reach them at all?”

Dick shakes his head. “We’re completely cut off.” His jaw tightens. “We’ve got to go there. We have to go in after them.”

Jason raises an eyebrow. “I’m sure Joker has some sort of defense set in place.”

“Harley says they’ve planted bombs throughout Gotham. They’ll go off if anyone tries to get onto or leave Arkham Island.”

“Well of _course_ they fucking did,” says Jason. He lets out a frustrated snarl. “How could Bruce have not seen that this was a set up? And to drag _Tim_ into it so carelessly?” Jason delivers a savage kick to a pile of books, scattering them. He returns his attention to Dick. “We have to do something. We have to get Tim out of there before the Joker…” Terror lodges the words in his throat.

“I know.” Dick says. “Look, Jason, I don’t know of any other way into Arkham except for all the entrances sure to be monitored by the Joker.” He stops for a moment, bracing himself. “Jason…we need…do you think you…” He gives a defeated sigh, unsure how to continue.

“You want to know if I know another way in,” Jason says quietly.

The guilt on Dick’s face is enough of an answer.

Alfred steps forward and lays a comforting hand on Jason’s shoulder. A long silence follows as Jason thinks, staring at nothing in particular with that haunted look Dick hates seeing in Jason’s eyes. Jason’s muscles grow tense, and they do not relax even when he reverts his gaze back to Dick’s.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Yeah there’s another way in.”

Hope flickers across Dick’s face. “So…” he asks tentatively. “Can you show me?”

“Are you asking me to show you on a map, or are you asking me to come?”

“If you’re up to it...I’d like you to come with me. I could use the backup.” Dick shifts, the nervousness on his face obvious. “Look, Jason, I know what I’m asking of you, going back to Arkham. So if you don’t want to come, I understand.”

Jason is silent. Despite his fury at Bruce, he knows he can’t abandon him and Tim. _Especially_ Tim. Even if it means facing his terror of going back to that godforsaken place. But a bitter thought keeps Jason from accepting the offer right away. “Even if I want to come, aren’t you afraid I’ll go berserk and try to kill someone?” There’s a layer of contempt in Jason’s tone, but really his voice sounds more exhausted than anything else.

Dick levels his gaze with Jason’s. “Are you planning to?”

Defensive anger flashes in Jason’s eyes, followed by a flicker of guilt. “Well I guess you trying to stop me from doing so would only slow us down, so no,” he says. “Not tonight.”

“Then we’re good,” Dick says. He tries to look confident, but Jason’s added on words to the end of his statement unnerves Dick. He reaches out, gently grasping Jason’s upper arm. “You’re my brother, Jason, and there’s no one else I’d rather have with me on this. But I need to know I can _trust_ you, okay?”

Biting his lip, Jason nods.

Dick gives Jason’s arm a gentle squeeze before releasing him. “Okay then. Let’s get going.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delayed update! Writing fight scenes is one of the tougher things for me to do, so it slowed me down a bit. Also, to those who haven’t played the games (or watched the walkthroughs), some of the dialogue I’m taking straight from the game. So I can’t take credit for *all* of Joker and Batman’s lines. ;)


	10. Chapter 10

“Good thing Bruce has _two_ fucking planes,” Jason says sarcastically. “I mean, it’d be downright disgraceful if he only had one.”

Dick smirks, shaking his head. “Well, he _does_ have billionaires of dollars at his disposal.”

“Lucky bastard,” mutters Jason.

A snort bursts from Dick as he guides the small plane over the waters bridging the gap between Gotham and Arkham Island. The sky is cloudy, giving them cover as they make their way towards the island.

Observing his brother, Dick is rather surprised with how…at ease Jason seems to be, considering their destination. But it soon becomes clear to Dick that Jason’s humor is there only to conceal his true anxiety. It’s subtle, but the physical hints are there. The stiffness in his movements, the slight favoring of his right leg, the way his eyes continue to revert back to the miles marker, keeping track of how close they are. Dick wishes he could somehow calm Jason’s mind, but he knows nothing he could say would do so, so he stays silent.

Dick reaches out, pressing one of the cockpit controls in front of him. He glances at a screen, reading the numbers there. “We’ve got sixty-three seconds until we hit the outer air sensors of Arkham’s security.” He presses two more buttons, and a message reading AUTOPILOT ENGAGED lights up the center screen on the instrument panel. “The plane will turn north in forty-three seconds and head back to Wayne Manor, where Alfred will remote land it.”

“Seriously, Alfred has the best butler job in the world,” Jason says. He picks up his Gotham Knight helmet and tugs it over his head. “I’ve got the DPVs set to go. You ready?”

“Course,” Dick replies with what he hopes looks like a confident smile. He stands and steps away from the pilot’s chair, pulling out a small underwater respirator. Together the two make their way to the side door of the plane.

“Maybe you should make a helmet of your own, Dick,” says Jason. He stoops and picks up two diver propulsion vehicles, handing one to Dick. “Then you wouldn’t have to bother with the respirator.”

“And hide my good looks?” replies Dick. “Pass.” He throws a smirk Jason’s way and secures the respirator over his mouth.

Jason laughs and hits a large button on the wall in front of them. The side door slides out and to the left, revealing the dark night before them and the waters below.

For the slightest moment Jason is frozen, staring at the distant outline of Arkham Island. Then he shakes his head and steps forward. “Let’s go, spandex boy,” he says. He tosses his propulsion vehicle through the opening and jumps out after it, forming a perfect dive into the water below.

Throwing his own DPV out of the plane, Dick follows, hitting the water only seconds before the Batplane above them turns north and begins its flight back to Wayne Manor.

The two boys retrieve their equipment easily enough and swim to each other’s sides. Silently, they turn so that they’re directly facing Arkham Island. Then they dive below the waves.

Dick keeps an eye on an electronic band on his wrist as they descend through the murkiness. The moment the counting numbers on the band show that they’re reached a depth of twenty-five feet Dick holds his hand out, signaling to Jason. Now below the reach of Arkham’s underwater scanners, they turn on their DPVs, allowing the propulsion vehicles to pull them through the water. Normally they simply would have swam to the island on their own, but time is too much of the essence for them to not use the assistance.

They make it to the shore of Arkham Island in ten minutes. Keeping low as they surface, the two boys eye the beach for any guards; it looks fairly deserted.

“You’re right,” Dick murmurs as he pulls off his respirator. “This curve on the northern part of the island isn’t very well guarded.” He tugs his DPV closer to him but winces suddenly, clutching at his left arm.

Concern flashes in Jason’s eyes. “You okay?”

Dick grimaces. “Yeah. It’s fine.”

“Your burns –”

Dick gives a quick shake of his head. “They’re bandaged. And Alfred gave me the strongest painkillers we have. I promise, I’m fine…as long as I don’t jump out of anymore planes.”

Jason doesn’t look convinced. But he doesn’t argue further, and together the two make their way up the beach. Keeping low and to the shadows, they hurry to a massive cluster of boulders that are piled up against the slope of the cliff leading to Arkham Asylum. Hiding their DPVs amongst the rocks, they pause, tilting their heads back to stare up at the looming cliff. The wall of the cliff seems to be made up of mostly embedded rock slabs, with the occasional tree roots jutting out and twisting themselves down to the sandy ground below. Despite the seemingly smooth wall, Jason walks forward, studying it with a critical eye. He moves a little deeper into the cluster of rocks…and then disappears into the wall.

Dick blinks in surprise. “Jason?”

Half of Jason’s armored body reappears, and Jason waves his hand impatiently. “Come on.”

His brow creasing, Dick goes over to where Jason is, and then his eyes widen in realization. There is a narrow opening in the cliff wall, but it’s cleverly hidden by a simple illusion. By standing back and staring at the wall as a whole, it looks as though all of the rock slabs are one. But if one positions themselves in the right position, they are able to see that in actuality part of the wall curves outwards, leaving space enough for a small opening. It is impossible to see from all but one exact angle. Impressed, Dick squeezes through the opening and follows Jason inside.

Jason’s flashlight is already on, and Dick flicks his on as he enters, holding it out to examine the low ceiling and close walls of the tunnel they’re standing in. He looks over at Jason, who stands completely still as he gazes into the beckoning darkness.

Dick frowns. “Jason, how did you know this was here? I thought you had never left…that room.”

Jason is quiet for a long minute. He shifts uncomfortably, as though debating whether or not to answer. Then he lets out a low sigh. “I spent _most_ of my nine months in that room,” he answers softly. “But one night Joker and his men brought me to the northern beach, using this tunnel to get there. Joker must have paid off some guards to clear this area, since no one came when the screaming began.” He pauses. “I was forced to watch as the Joker gutted one of his men right on the beach and dumped the body in a shallow pool. Then he held my head in the bloody, intestine-filled water for what seemed like hours afterwards.”

A beat of silence follows, with Dick unable to say anything in his horror.

Jason swallows. “I always wondered why he had bothered bringing me out here to do that when he could have just as easily have done it in the room.” He fidgets with his flashlight, turning it over in his hands. “I think he wanted me to see Gotham. It had been a new moon, and the sky had been so overcast that not one star was visible. The only light there was came from Arkham’s security gates from up on the cliff…and from Gotham’s shoreline.”

Jason’s voice trembles as he continues. “Seeing those tiny lights in the distance…knowing that there were people out there who knew nothing about what was happening, that Bruce was out there, and you, and Alfred…” The words die on Jason’s lips, and he takes a moment to compose himself. “It was the worst feeling in the world. That was Joker’s whole point. All of Gotham was right there, only a few miles away, and here I was, completely alone.” He sucks in a shaky breath. “I made sure to remember what that beach and the opening to the tunnel looked like. It was burned into my memory forever, out of a desperate hope that maybe I could use that information someday to escape.”

Tears well in Dick’s eyes as he steps forward and places a hand on Jason’s arm. “I’m so sorry, Jason,” Dick whispers.

Jason’s jaw tightens, unable to speak within the wake of the emotions consuming him. His hand twists around his flashlight, and he finally straightens. “We’re wasting time,” he says tightly. “We should keep going.”

Dick hesitates, not yet releasing his hold. But then Jason shrugs him off, and Dick is forced to let the matter go.

With Jason leading, the two of them head down the tunnel, forced to go single file due to the closeness of the walls. The tunnel is fairly straight, and after a while it begins to curve upwards before eventually turning into crudely carved steps. At the top of the staircase is a wooden trapdoor built into the ceiling of the tunnel. Jason jams his elbow into it, breaking it free from years of dirt and mold, and pushes it open.

The boys climb up through the trapdoor, entering what was once a small storage room. Dust and cobwebs have long taken hold of the place, and the shelves are empty of almost all the cleaning or medical supplies that must have once stocked them full.

Jason pushes open the storage room’s door and leads Dick out into a hallway. With only the beams provided by their flashlights to see by, the two continue on. They go only a few yards before coming upon a massive pile of dirt and plaster choking up the entirety of the hallway, leftover from some kind of cave-in. Broken ceiling beams frame the mess, which Jason gives a half-hearted kick to.

“I guess we found where Bruce sealed off the damn place,” mutters Jason.

Dick glances at a door to his right. “Whatever room is behind this, I’m wondering how long it goes. Maybe it stretches far enough alongside the debris pile that we could make a hole in the room’s wall on the other side of the wreckage and get to the end of the hallway.”

Jason shrugs. “It’s worth a shot, I guess.”

Dick reaches out and grasps the door’s handle. He gives it a hard shove, breaking the door free from the moldy doorframe. The old wood creaks loudly as its swung open, groaning in protest from being moved after so long. The sound sends a chill up Jason’s spine, and a sudden twinge of dread sparks inside of him.

“Jason?” Dick turns, looking back at Jason questioningly.

Jason flexes his fingers, trying to ignoring the faint throbbing in them. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I’m coming.” Gripping his flashlight tightly, he follows Dick into the room.

/

“Stay close, Robin,” says Batman.

Robin nods, glancing about them for any signs of movement as the two proceed towards Arkham’s main Secure Treatment Transfer Room. They had been walking for a while now with a disturbing lack of interruptions, from either Arkham security or Joker’s men. If Batman seemed unnerved about it, he made no comment of it to Robin.

Together, the two turn a corner, and then freeze at the sight before them. Sprawled throughout the hallway is about ten security guards, all lying motionless. Blood pools out from beneath the bodies, and their limbs fan out at awkward angles in their stiffness.

“Crap…” Robin mutters, kneeling down before one of the men. He places two fingers to the man’s throat in vain hope, but there is no pulse to feel. Swallowing, Robin glances up at Batman, who is scanning the hallway with his heat sensor.

Batman shakes his head. “I’m picking up no body heat signatures,” he says grimly. “They’re all dead.”

His expression grim, Robin reaches down and unclips the security tablet and electronic access card from the guard’s belt. He straightens and scans the card into the tablet. “Maybe I could do something with this,” he says. The tablet blinks to life in recognition of the card and pulls up various files for Robin to choose from. He opens up the security codes file and begins to type on the touchscreen. “If I could rewrite the codes in here, maybe I could trip the system by sending in a foreign set of codes, like a virus. That might help weaken whatever firewall Joker has up right now.”

“Do it while walking then,” says Batman. “We have to keep moving.”

Robin nods, not taking his eyes off of the screen as he follows Batman down the corridor.

Batman pushes the door open at the end of the hall, going in first to check the room before allowing Robin to enter. They walk only a few feet before pausing, staring in confusion at what is before them.

They’re in the Secure Treatment Transfer Room, but it’s completely empty. There are no guards lying dead, no Joker men waiting in the shadows…only a large, iron mobile security cell hanging in the center of the room. Dangling from massive chains about a foot off of the ground, the cell looks to be at least nine feet in height, and five feet wide. From what Batman and Robin can tell, there is no movement within it.

Cautiously, the two walk further into the room. Then the room’s door swings shut behind them and immediately locks itself. At the same moment, the security monitor attached to the far wall comes to life, revealing an ecstatic Joker.

“Bats! What took ya so long?” Emitting a gleeful chuckle, the Joker looks at Robin. “Heya kiddo! I was hoping you’d be tagging along. We all know I just can’t get enough of you birdies.”

Batman clenches his fists. “There’s no escape, Joker,” he growls. “I will find you.”

Joker laughs. “I’m counting on it! Just not yet.”

There’s the sound of loud gears turning from within the hanging cell. Batman and Robin snap their heads to watch as the door to the cell creaks open and a large, clawed hand grasps the edge of it, pushing it open the rest of the way. A massive foot steps onto the floor of the room, followed by the body of something neither Batman or Robin has ever seen.

In some ways, the thing looks similar to a human. It has arms, legs, and a head, and it stands upright. But that’s really where the similarities stop. Its pale, discolored skin appears bumpy and warty – almost diseased – and the enormous muscles encompassing the creature’s body are unevenly distributed, giving it more weight on the right side of its body and even furthering its disfigured look. Protrusions that look like bones stick out through the skin all over its body, clustering for the most part along the spine. Glowing green eyes swivel about the room until they finally land on the only two figures in sight. Letting out a furious roar, the creature takes a heavy step forward, shaking the ground beneath its feet.

“Oh-ho!” Joker cackles. “Watch out there, Dark Knight and Boy Blunder! He’s a big one!”

“What the heck is –” is all Robin can sputter out before the creature rushes right at them. The two immediately shoot their grappling hooks into the ceiling and propel themselves over the creature, which slams into the wall behind them.

Roaring in anger, the creature turns and swipes at Robin, but he easily ducks the swing, pulling out a smoke bomb as he rolls out of the way. He throws it at the creature’s eyes and the bomb explodes, blinding the thing momentarily as Batman flips into the air and delivers a hard kick to the creature’s head, snapping it back.

The thing snarls viciously and charges once more at Batman and Robin, but the two dodge to the sides of it and simultaneously kick it in the back, throwing it forward. It slams into a glass wall sealing off the room from a small chasm made for the air conditioning system, and the glass cracks at the sudden impact. Batman repeatedly punches the creature in the face, smashing the back of its head into the cracking glass over and over. The creature then swipes out his arm, knocking Batman off of his feet and sending him flying at least fifteen feet.

Running forward, Robin brings up his bo staff and smashes it down on the creature’s head. The thing stumbles back at the impact, but it recovers quickly and reaches out a large hand, enclosing it around Robin’s waist. Robin raises his bo staff as he’s hoisted into the air, jamming it down into one of the thing’s eyes.

Howling in pain, the creature fails to notice Batman as he rushes forward and slams his shoulder into the it’s stomach, sending it reeling back. The heavy body slams into the glass wall – completely shattering it.

Millions of shards explode backwards in an earsplitting crash, and the creature begins to fall into the opening behind it, its hand holding Robin swinging out dangerously. Robin rips his grappling hook from his belt and shoots it upwards, attaching it to an overhead pipe. But the creature’s arm not holding the boy flails about wildly and hooks itself onto the rope, tearing the entire device from the Robin’s grasp.

Batman immediately shoots his own grappling hook around the creature’s waist and tugs hard. The creature is jerked forward, but at the same moment it reflexively opens its hand, releasing Robin.

A small gasp of surprise is all that emanates from the boy as he plummets into the chasm, disappearing from sight.

“ _Robin!_ ” shouts Batman. He immediately rushes towards the shattered wall, but before he can jump after Robin the creature throws itself forward, regaining its balance and swiping its arm at Batman. Batman dodges to the side and pulls out a Batarang, aiming for the thing’s head.

Suddenly, the creature chokes and staggers forward, clawing at its chest. Moaning grotesquely, it stumbles about for a few seconds before falling forward and collapsing at Batman’s feet.

For a stunned moment, all Batman can do is stare at the motionless form.

“Well!” comes Joker’s voice. Batman spins around to see Joker looking mockingly shocked from his place on the security monitor. “That was unexpected, wasn’t?” He rubs a hand across his forehead in an exasperated-like manner. “Note to self: need stronger test subjects. Speaking of…where _has_ little Boy Blunder gone?”

Terror leaps in Batman’s chest as he turns back to what is left of the glass wall. He sprints forward, picking up his grappling hook as he runs. _Please no. Not Tim. God, please no._

The Joker’s dark chuckle echoes out from the room’s speakers. “Now, now, Batman, let’s not get our tights all in a pinch. I’m sure the boy is alright. Why don’t you let _me_ find him, while you take care of the rabble?”

The door to the room opens, and eight Blackgate prisoners come streaming into the room – heading straight for Batman. Batman continues to rush towards the open chasm, but as he jumps into the air a large hand grasps his ankle, yanking him back. He crashes to the floor with a heavy thud, the impact knocking the air out of him. Eight faces loom over him, all grinning maliciously.

“Place nice, kids!” the Joker exclaims. The video feed cuts out.

“Alight boys,” one of the prisoners says. “Let’s have some fun.”

Batman reaches for one of his Batarangs. “Sorry,” he snarls. “I’m not in the mood for games.”

Another prisoner laughs. “We’ll see about that.”

Gritting his teeth, Batman leaps to his feet and takes out one of the men with his Batarang. The other prisoners rush forward, fists raised and shouts of exhilaration spouting from them as they join the fight.

In the distance, laughter echoes faintly through the asylum’s halls.


	11. Chapter 11

It’s hard to see in the room, even with Dick and Jason holding out their flashlights. The walls are covered in filth and cobwebs, showcasing months of abandonment. An old lightbulb hangs from the ceiling in the middle of the room, naked and cracked, and a medical table is pushed against one wall, where rusted surgical tools lay amongst dark stains. In the center of the floor is a broken chair that had long ago fallen on its side; around it are more stains, their muted color disturbingly obvious as having once been a vibrant scarlet.

Jason’s grip on his flashlight tightens as he steps further into the room. He swings the flashlight about slowly, taking in the familiar sight with stunned silence. He hadn’t even recognized the outside of the room. But looking about now, the icy terror he had always associated with the place creeps back into him, making it hard for him to think clearly.

Dick’s gaze switches between Jason and their surroundings, and it only takes a few seconds for him to make the connection. His gaze falls upon the bloodstains in the center of the room, and he stares for a long while, unable to look away in his horrified rage.

The clattering of Jason’s flashlight falling to the concrete is what snaps Dick’s attention back to his brother. Jason’s hands are visibly shaking as he staggers over to the broken chair and grips the rotting wood, which he uses to lower himself to his knees.

“Jason?” Dick says in an uncertain voice.

Jason doesn’t answer. Reaching up, he rips off his helmet and tosses it aside as he bends over, curling in on himself. Dick hurries to Jason’s side and crouches beside him, placing a hand on Jason’s back.

“Jay?”

Jason is staring at the bloodstains surrounding him, his eyes wide and clouded with dark remembrance as demented laughter and agonized screams echo in his head. His breathing quickens, and the color drains from his face at an alarming rate.

“Hey,” Dick says anxiously. “Jason, look at me. _Jason_.”

Jason’s gaze snaps to Dick’s, though he doesn’t seem to be fully aware of who he’s looking at.

“I-I…” Jason blinks hard, trying to focus. “ _Need to get out of here,_ ” he whispers. He moves to stand, and Dick immediately grips Jason’s arm, helping pull Jason to his feet. Dick snatches up Jason’s discarded helmet and flashlight as they stand, and together the two head for the door, going back out into the dark hallway.

As soon as they are outside of the room Jason leans against a wall, pressing his hands against his eyes. Too overwhelmed to hold himself up, he sinks to the floor, breathing heavily as he struggles to regain control.

“Jason?” Dick kneels in front of Jason and reaches out, but Jason pushes Dick’s hands away, shaking his head.

“Just…give me a second,” Jason chokes out, squeezing his eyes shut. Minutes pass, with Jason trying to still his body’s shuddering and Dick helplessly watching. Swallowing hard, Jason slams the back of his head against the wall in frustration. “Fuck,” he mutters. “ _Fuck_.”

Dick leans forward and swiftly pulls Jason into an embrace. Though tense at first, Jason eases into his brother’s warmth, taking solace in the much-needed touch. Anything to steady him, to reassure him that he’s okay, to tell him that someone he trusts is there with him.

“It’s okay, Jay,” whispers Dick.

Jason nods desperately into Dick’s shoulder, not caring how childish he feels clinging to Dick.

They don’t move from what seems like a long time.

Eventually, Jason’s shivering ceases and he pulls back, glancing away from Dick in embarrassment. But Dick isn’t deterred; reaching out cautiously, he brushes back Jason’s hair, checking the pallor of his face.

“Here, Jay,” he says, pulling out a hydration pill. “You need water.” He gives it to Jason, who eyes the pill in distaste. But he takes it anyway, and upon swallowing it seems to calm somewhat.

Jason slumps back against the wall, looking utterly ashamed. “Sorry…” he says quietly. “I figured we might run into it down here; I should have been better prepared.”

“Don’t you dare apologize, Jason,” says Dick. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Jason gives his head a shake, letting out a frustrated breath. “You’d think that after all these months I would have a better handle on this.” He pauses. “Will it ever go away?”

Dick watches Jason with a sad expression. “Jason, what happened to you is not something you can just brush away with time. Time may make it easier to bear, but it can’t erase what happened.” He lays a hand on Jason’s forearm. “Having natural reactions like this isn’t a statement of who you are, or the lack of ‘strength’ you have. You have proven time and again how strong of a person you are; coming here tonight is only another testament to that. Words cannot express how much I admire you.”

A small smile touches Jason’s lips, and he quickly wipes a hand over his eyes. “Damn,” he says quietly. “You should write down these speeches you’re always spouting off. You’re fucking cheesy, but you’re good.”

Dick chuckles. “I try.” He picks up their flashlights and holds Jason’s out. “You ready?”

Jason nods, taking his flashlight from Dick. “Yeah.”

Dick stands and stretches out his hand, which Jason grasps, pulling himself to his feet. Jason picks up his Gotham Knight helmet and studies it silently for a moment. Then he slips it on and straightens, his body language conveying none of the emotions still lingering within him.

Moving his flashlight about, Dick observes their surroundings for another possible way past Bruce’s blockage of the hallway. He’d rather not have Jason go back through that room, so if he can find a different way through, he’ll take it. Swinging his flashlight upwards, Dick glances at the low ceiling above them. A grin pricks at the edge of his mouth.

“You got that explosive gel Bruce made?”

Jason looks over at Dick. “Yeah.”

Dick nods his head upwards. “Instead of going _around_ the debris, why don’t we just go over it?”

Jason’s gaze follows Dick’s, and, despite himself, a small smirk spreads across his lips. “I do like shortcuts.” Pulling out the device used to eject the gel, Jason aims it at the ceiling and sprays the substance onto the ceiling in a circle about three feet in diameter. Then they both step back and Jason presses the side button on the device. The gel explodes, shaking dirt from the walls and dropping the circular piece of the ceiling to the floor in-between Jason and Dick. Dust flies up from the impact and the two boys instinctively move back further, though Dick is the only one to fall into a coughing fit.

Jason snorts as he puts away the gel device. “Told you – you should make a helmet.”

“Shut up,” snaps Dick irritably.

Jason gives a soft laugh, though the sound lacks Jason’s usual energy. Dick glances at Jason in concern, but he knows this is not the time to dwell on it.

Pulling out his grappling hook, Jason aims it at the hole and shoots it through. He immediately zips upwards, disappearing into the dimness above. Dick quickly follows and lands gracefully onto the floor beside Jason.

They’re in an empty hallway. It’s poorly lit, with only a few of the overhanging bulbs casting a feeble light onto the walls surrounding them.

“Well, this floor can’t be abandoned,” Dick comments. “Since lights are being used here.”

“Really crappy lights,” observes Jason. “I find it hard to believe this is a wing officially in use. Unless Arkham’s _really_ gone down the shithole.”

“Someone’s using it, though,” says Dick, his eyes narrowing as he looks about them. “Which isn’t that surprising. After all, how much illegal stuff has gone on under Arkham’s radar?”

“Too much,” mutters Jason darkly.

Grimacing at that, Dick instead focuses on pulling up a digital map of Arkham on his gauntlet. Honing in on their location, Dick gestures to the right. “Looks like that’s the way to go if we want to get to the B Holding Cells, where Bruce and Tim were last.”

“I wonder if Barbara got through the firewall yet,” says Jason. He presses a hand to the side of his helmet, tilting his head slightly. “Oracle? Oracle, do you read me? It’s the Gotham Knight. Oracle?” No answer. Frowning, Jason drops his hand. “Guess not.”

“She’ll get through soon,” Dick says. He begins walking in the direction he had indicated, with Jason following. “But she’s also a bit pre-occupied at the moment, working with Alfred on trying to locate the apparent bombs Harley and Joker placed throughout Gotham.”

“I really think that’s a waste of their time,” Jason says. “I’m positive it was just a bluff.”

“Regardless, we have to be sure.”

Jason sighs. “Yeah, I know.” He adjusts his flashlight, the movements making its beam dance haphazardly across the floor.

They walk for a while, checking the rooms they pass for anyone inside. Most of the rooms are dark, and they don’t come across a single person in any of them. Soon enough, they’re approaching the end of the hallway, and there’s only one remaining door on the left to check. As the draw nearer, Jason prods Dick with his elbow, nodding to the light seeping out from beneath the door crack. The two approach cautiously, pulling out Batarangs. Dick hesitates a moment, then shoves the door open, and he and Jason step inside.

The sight they find halts them in their tracks.

There’s only one person in the room. And for a long moment, neither Dick or Jason are quite sure who it is. Hanging from the wall opposite of the doors, the shriveled figure is strung up by multiple tubes spreading out from his body in various directions. Pale and emaciated, the prisoner looks far closer to death than life. His head is hung in exhaustion, but at the sound of the door opening he lifts his gaze, glaring at the intruders with bloodshot eyes.

Jason’s mouth drops open slightly in surprise. “Bane?”

Bane heaves in a ragged breath. “Ah…followers…of the Bat…” he whispers weakly.

“Who did this to you?” asks Dick, unable to conceal his shock.

“Dr. Young, the bruja…” chokes out Bane. “She drained Venom from…my blood. Must…stop her…”

Jason eyes the computers placed in front of Bane curiously. Walking up to them, he turns on the center monitor. Immediately, a small tab pops up.

LOGIN REQUIRED

USERNAME: DR. YOUNG

“Hm,” Jason muses. He taps the keyboard thoughtfully. “I might not crack this as fast as Tim, but give me a few minutes to see what I can do.”

Dick gestures to Bane. “What about him?”

Jason shrugs. “He can hang on for a second.”

Giving Jason an exasperated look, Dick turns to walk over to Bane, but before he can do so, the login screen on the computer cuts away to blackness. Startled, Jason jerks back as the blank screen melts away to the image of a grinning Joker.

“Sorry to cut in, kiddos!” exclaims the Joker. “But you’re both too nosey for your own good; this is _my_ business.” His gaze shifts to focus solely on Jason. “Jason my boy, is that you under that ridiculous helmet? Harley’s been telling me _all_ about your latest endeavors. Including your…more recent violent outbursts.” His grin widens. “And I have to say, Papa Joker can’t be any prouder of you!”

“Shut the hell up, Joker,” Dick says savagely. “What do you want this time? Why take over Arkham?”

“Sorry, Bird Brain, but I have better things to do than monologue to a pair of second rate sidekicks,” says Joker. He nods his head behind him, in the direction of Bane’s still form. “How do you like my puppet?” His smile twists, taking on a most menacing look. “Let’s say we cut him down!”

There’s the sudden sound of metal gates sliding away, followed by the gushing of liquid. Dick and Jason snap their heads up to watch as a neon green substance rushes through the tubes connected to Bane. As the liquid flows relentlessly into the shriveled body, Bane lets out an agonized scream, twisting violently against the tubes stringing him up. Then, his limbs begin to expand. Muscles throb and grow, with veins protruding painfully as they are revitalized with fresh Venom.

Moaning horribly, Bane continues to yank at the tubes in vain attempts to break away. Soon he’s as muscular and huge as he ever was in his prime, but he only seems to get larger from there. Finally, he lets out a thunderous roar as he rips himself free from the tubes, tearing off chunks of the wall with him. Bane lands on the floor with a heavy thud, the vibrations of the impact strong enough to cause Dick and Jason to stagger back, throwing their arms out to keep their balance.

“Oh shit…” Jason says, staring up at the enormous figure. Bane swivels his head around as though in a drunken haze, and then his gaze lands on Jason and Dick. Without a moment’s hesitation, Jason gives Dick a hard shove away from the giant standing over them. “Nightwing, _move!”_

Emitting a furious growl, Bane rushes forward, smashing aside the computers as he heads directly for Jason and Dick. Jason shoots his grappling hook into the ceiling and uses it to propel him through the air, giving him increased momentum as he slams his feet into Bane’s face. Bane reels back, though he whips out his hand as he does so, catching Jason around the waist and roughly throwing him across the room.

But Bane’s arm hasn’t even finished the movement before Nightwing comes swinging in, delivering a hard kick to Bane’s stomach. Bane throws his own punch forward but Nightwing dodges it, sliding out of the way and throwing two Batarangs so that they embed in Bane’s shoulder.

Bane roars in anger, twisting around to see Nightwing once more rushing at him. The moment Nightwing jumps into the air the Gotham Knight comes flying in alongside him, and together they knock Bane onto his back. The Gotham Knight lands directly on top of the giant and begins throwing his fists into Bane’s face, but a harsh twist of Bane’s body is all it takes for him to throw the Knight off of him and send him sprawling.

“Nightwing?” Nightwing pauses, tilting his head at the sudden static-filled voice coming in through his comm. “Gotham Knight? Are you guys there? Can you hear me?”

“Oracle!” exclaims Nightwing, dodging another one of Bane’s punches. “You got through!”

“Yeah,” says Oracle. “I’ve been looking into the bombs, and –”

There’s a loud crash as Nightwing is thrown into one of the turned over computers.

“…what are you guys doing? I can’t see anything; your mask cameras aren’t working.”

“Just having a little throw down with an old pal,” replies the Knight. He throws a smoke bomb into Bane’s face, causing him to stumble back in momentary blindness. The Knight flips through the air, landing on Bane’s back. He drives a fist into the side of Bane’s head, but his arm is grabbed and he’s flung into the wall behind them with a hard thud. “Ow…” he groans. He looks up to see Bane storming towards him. “Can you hold on a sec, Oracle?”

“Incoming!” exclaims Nightwing. The next second he slams into the side of Bane, causing the giant to stumble into the broken computer desk. Nightwing easily jumps free from the crash and hurries over to the Gotham Knight’s side. “Something’s weird with Bane,” Nightwing says, holding out his hand.

The Knight brushes the hand aside irritably and stands. “Describe ‘weird,’” he says. “Cause when you’re referring to Arkham inmates, you need to be a bit more specific than that.”

Nightwing rolls his eyes, then whips his head around at the sound of Bane’s thundering steps. He and the Knight launch themselves out of the way just in time, and Bane is forced to skid to a stop before crashing into the wall.

“I mean –” Nightwing picks up a cracked computer monitor and chucks it at Bane, who knocks it aside with a furious cry. “That Bane has never been this strong before. Our hits should be doing a lot more damage than they are.” He ducks away from another punch, then spins around and gives Bane a hard shove in the Knight’s direction.

Immediately the Knight crouches low and swings out his leg, trying to knock Bane off of his feet. But Bane hardly budges at the impact, and instead reaches down and wraps a hand around the Knight’s throat, pulling him up so that the two of them are face-to-face.

“I tire of your petty brawls!” shouts Bane. “Give me a fight worthy to be battled by Bane!”

“How’s this?” The Knight reaches out, ripping one of the Batarangs free from Bane’s shoulder. In the same, swift motion he then thrusts it forward – directly into Bane’s right eye.

Letting out a scream of agony, Bane releases his hold on the Knight, dropping him to the ground.

Scrambling back, the Gotham Knight pulls himself to his feet and glances at Nightwing. “I hate to admit it," he rasps, massaging his throat. "But you’re right. He’s not going down like normal.”

“So how do we do this then?” asks Nightwing.

“If you two aren’t big enough to stop him, then find something in the room that is,” cuts in Oracle.

“Hey, wait a minute,” the Knight says indignantly. “I didn’t say we weren’t –”

“Knight!” interrupts Nightwing. He nods at Bane, who straightens, having recovered from the initial pain of his injured eye. Leaving in the Batarang from where blood now runs freely down his face, Bane turns to face them once again. Gritting his teeth, Nightwing glances about them frantically for anything that might help.

The Gotham Knight tilts his head up, and then grins. “Remember what we did to get out of the floor below?” He gestures upwards. “Why don’t we do that again, only on a larger scale?”

Nightwing looks up. “Ah. Gotcha.” He braces himself as Bane begins his advance. “Alright, you take care of the ceiling. I’ve got Bane.” Then Nightwing is rushing towards Bane; at the last possible moment, he flips over Bane’s head and lands on his back. Immediately he whips out a Batarang and begins cutting loose the tubes attached to Bane. Venom begins squirting everywhere, splattering about wildly due to Bane’s attempts to throw Nightwing off of him.

The Gotham Knight take two steps in Bane and Nightwing’s direction before launching himself into the air and grabbing onto one of the metal pipes running along the room. Swinging up onto it, he rips the explosive gel device free from his belt and begins spraying it onto the patch of ceiling directly over Bane. “Nightwing!” he shouts. “ _Move your ass!”_

Nightwing instantly jumps off of Bane, somersaulting through the air to the opposite side of the room. At the same moment, the Knight hits the detonator button and shoots his grappling hook, pulling himself free from the explosion.

With a loud _boom_ , the ceiling implodes, falling directly onto Bane. Brick and cement pile onto him, along with support beams and plumbing pipes. On and on it goes, until finally all that is visible of Bane is his left shoulder and arm. The dust begins to settle, and soon there is no movement to be seen coming from the pile.

The Gotham Knight lands next to Nightwing, looking at the mess with satisfaction. “I am so glad Batman came up with this gel stuff,” he says.

Nightwing shakes his head in amusement. “And how are we supposed to detain him? He broke through those tubes and ripped out parts of that wall pretty easily.” He’s quiet for a moment, thinking. Then he reaches into his utility belt and pulls out a small hypodermic needle. “I guess I can use a sedative.”

The Knight snorts. “And how long that is going to last on _Bane?_ Especially super-Bane?”

Nightwing shrugs. “A normal one wouldn’t do much.” He walks over to Bane’s motionless form and brushes aside some of the debris, uncovering Bane’s neck and face. “But this version I’ve got here? It’s a pretty heavy duty version. Made specially for people like our friend here.” He shoots the sedative into Bane and steps back. “Trust me, he should be out for a while.”

“Whatever you say,” says the Knight. He looks over at the destroyed computers. “So what, this Dr. Young was experimenting with Venom or something?”

“Looks like it,” Nightwing replies grimly. “Whatever the new stuff was that was pumped into him, it made him far more powerful than usual.” He holds two fingers to his ear. “Oracle?”

“I’m here. How’s Bane?”

“Out cold. But he seems to have been injected with a new kind of Venom. We think a doctor here at Arkham was experimenting with it. Could you go into the city’s computer and pull up all you can find on a Dr. Young?”

“Sure thing.” There’s a pause. “Have you guys found any sign of Batman or Robin yet?”

“No,” Nightwing answers grimly. “But we’re not near where the breakout was yet.”

“What about their tracers?” asks the Knight. He glances down at his gauntlet and presses a few buttons, opening up a small display screen. There are two dots visible in the room they’re standing in now – one for him, one for Nightwing. Zooming out the map of Arkham, he looks it over carefully for any other tracer dots. “There. It’s Batman’s – he’s in the main Secure Treatment Transfer Room.” He pauses. “Robin’s not there.”

Dick frowns, trying to ignore his unease. “Maybe his tracer just isn’t showing up on the grid. I mean, the communications system only _just_ got back online.”

“I hope so,” mutters Jason. Reverting the screen back into his gauntlet, he begins heading towards the door. “Well, let’s get going then. Before your ‘heavy duty’ sedative wears off.”

Casting back a wary glance at Bane, Dick follows Jason back out into the hallway and in the direction of Batman’s tracer signal.

_Please be alright, Tim._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I’m not being too confusing with switching between characters’ real name and their hero names. Like using Jason vs Gotham Knight. I’m having a hard time deciding when to use their hero names and when not too, since technically Jason and Dick are in their Gotham Knight and Nightwing uniforms the entire time. Basically, when it’s just the two of them, or when they’re having more emotional moments, I use their real names. And when they’re fighting, I use their hero names. That’s kinda the way I’m going about it. Does that make sense? Tell me if it doesn’t!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: There’s some dark/graphic stuff in this chapter. Just a heads up.

Breathing heavily, Batman wipes away the blood dripping from his mouth. He pushes himself to his feet, glaring down at the eight Blackgate prisoners now sprawled out across the Secure Treatment Transfer Room. All are unconscious, and most with broken bones. Spitting out a glob of blood so that it lands at the feet of one, Batman turns and hurries to the broken glass wall Robin had disappeared over. He shoots his grappling hook and swoops over the edge of the chasm, soaring through the cold air and landing on the metal surface covering the bottom.

The thud of his boots echoes loudly throughout the space, only highlighting the horrible fact a simple look tells him; he’s alone. Batman pulls out a flashlight and crouches, examining the floor. Around his boots, blood speckles the gray surface. Trying to calm his rapidly rising anxiety, Batman twists around in the tight space, searching for anything else of use.

Not three feet from him is a ventilation opening. A gate used to be there, but it’s been pulled away and thrown the side. Hope surges in Batman as he bends down and crawls through the opening. He only goes a few yards before coming upon another gate that had been torn off. Pushing himself through it, he drops into an empty hallway. The moment his feet touch the ground, an overhead security monitor crackles to life.

“My goodness, Batsy, you’re starting to show your age!” says the Joker. “For a moment, I was worried you weren’t going to win that one.”

“Where’s Robin, Joker?” Batman snaps viciously.

The Joker laughs. “You really should keep a better eye on your birds; they have _such_ a habit for straying too far from the nest. Dear little Robin is on his way to Harley as we speak.”

The screen cuts away from Joker to footage of Robin lying unconscious at the bottom of the air conditioning shaft. Blood seeps out from a bad gash on the side of the side of his head, and his left arm sprawls outwards, his wrist bent at an awkward angle.

The camera suddenly shifts, widening its frame to show an Arkham security guard crawling through the ventilation opening and moving to Robin’s side. Immediately, Batman recognizes the man he’s worked with before while bringing prisoners to Arkham. “Officer Boles,” he growls.

Grasping Robin’s ankles, Boles roughly tugs the boy towards the opening he had just crawled through. Boles and whoever is behind the camera make their way into the hallway Batman is standing in now, dragging their hostage between them. Soon Officer Boles reaches the second ventilation opening and drops to the ground; reaching up, he takes Robin’s limp body from the cameraman. Boles then slings Robin over his shoulder and turns away from the camera, walking down the hallway.

The footage cuts back to Joker, who looks positively giddy. “The boy is in good hands, Bats, don’t you fret! Harley’s a pro at keeping your birdies company. _But_ …if you try to follow me, he dies!” He chuckles. “Dear little Harley’s looking forward to it. Hey, maybe I’ll film it and post it on the internet!”

The panicked fury rising in Batman is making it hard for him to think clearly. “If you harm him –”

A laugh bursts from the Joker. “You already did that when you let my test subject drop him thirty feet, Bats! But if you want to avoid him acquiring any further broken bones, you’d do well to stay clear of me until I’m ready for you. Got it?”

The screen cuts to black, leaving Batman frozen in shock. For a long moment, all he can do is stare. Then he whips out a Batarang and with a cry of rage throws it at the monitor, shattering the glass.

He can’t lose Tim. He can’t lose a second son to that monster. He can’t relive the misery of those months during Jason’s disappearance all over again. He _can’t._

Batman paces back and forth, forcing himself to push down his terror. But Jason’s bloody body keeps springing up in his mind, repeatedly replaced with Tim’s broken form, and he just. Can’t. _Focus_.

Finally he stops, pressing his hands to his forehead and closing his eyes to center all of his attention on the simple act of breathing. A few moments pass before he opens his eyes again, feeling a bit more in control.

There has to be a trail. There must be something left behind that he can follow. Taking out his scanner, he holds it up to inspect the hallway before him. The device picks up a few drops of Tim’s blood, but they stop after a couple of yards. Boles or the thug working the camera must have bandaged Tim’s head, either to stop the trail or to simply keep Tim alive. After all, a dead Robin wouldn’t make a very good hostage.

 _What else. Come on, think._ Batman frowns, recalling everything he can on Frank Boles. A rather aggressive, impolite sort of man, he wasn’t one Batman enjoyed working with or had much respect for. Boles was a known alcoholic, and he had shown up to work hungover multiple times, as well as being caught drinking on the job more than once. However, despite all of the rules he’d broken and all the warnings that had been given, he had never managed to get fired. That always struck Batman as odd.

Yet even with Boles’ habits and his constant rude behavior, the idea of him working for the Joker was almost laughable until tonight. Batman grinds his teeth as he walks, annoyed that such an important piece of information had gone unnoticed by him.

Batman turns the corner of the hallway and stops, his eye caught by the glint of something in the shadows. Bending down, he picks up a thin hip flask. He doesn’t need to guess to whom it belongs. As the object tips in his hand, a thin dribble of liquid spills out onto the tiles. Crouching closer to the small puddle, Batman holds out his scanner.

_42.19% alcohol_

_99.82% whiskey_

Rather surprised at the convenience of finding such a valuable clue, Batman wonders if perhaps Tim had woken up at some point and managed to tear off the flask from Boles. Regardless of how it got here, this is exactly the break he needs. If he can follow traces of the alcohol in the atmosphere left by Boles’ bourbon, he should have a new trail to follow.

He moves quickly, holding out the scanner and moving it from side to side as he goes. Every few feet or so he manages to pick up traces of the concoction, which form a pathway before him.

“How’s it going, Bats?”

A frown crosses Batman’s face as Joker’s voice comes in through the overhead speakers.

“I’ll bet you’re wondering how I did it! Was there a clue the great detective missed?” Joker’s voice switches from mocking to annoyingly cheerful. “Oh, me and Franky go _way_ back! In fact, he got to know the last Boy Blunder fairy well.”

Batman falters at that.

“Without dear ol’ Frank, I never would have been able to spend as much time with little Jay-Jay as I did. Why don’t you ask the kid about it sometime? I’m sure he has plenty of stories about Boles _somewhere_ in that scrambled up brain of his.”

Heat surges through Batman’s body, and he clenches the scanner in fury. Refusing to answer Joker, he picks up his pace.

Rounding another corner, Batman sees two of Joker’s men standing guard ahead. His movements fueled by fresh rage, Batman swiftly comes up behind the closest one and violently kicks him in the back, slamming him into the wall. Batman then grabs the man’s head and smashes it into the brick surface, knocking the thug unconscious.

“Hey!” shouts the second guard. He raises his gun, but Batman instinctively dodges out of the way, and a shot echoes down the hallway. With a vicious snarl, Batman rushes forward, shoving the gun upwards and grabbing onto the arm holding the weapon. Holding the outstretched limb in place, Batman slams his hand down. There’s a crack of bone, and the man cries out in agony, releasing his hold on the gun. A punch is delivered to the thug’s stomach, causing him to bend over in pain. Then Batman thrusts his knee into the man’s face, and the man crumples to the ground with a pitiful moan. Batman doesn’t pause as he steps over the thug, disgust in his eyes as he kicks the gun away.

“Bravo, Bats!” claps the Joker. “Oh, I almost forgot! I have a surprise for you up ahead. Courtesy of a fellow inmate. Just a little something to slow you down, since you’re such an annoyingly determined man.”

His chest heaving, though more from anger than breathlessness, Batman glances down at his digital map of Arkham; he’s nearing the end of Intensive Treatment. He comes up to the exit door of the wing and pushes it open. But upon going through the doorway Batman stops, staring in disbelief.

Slumped up against the wall is Boles. An expression of horror is frozen on his face, and his eyes stare upwards, unseeing. Painted across his chest in deep red are two words:

DEAD END

Batman stiffens upon seeing the blood. Panic shoots through him, and though logically he knows it wouldn’t make sense for Joker to drain so much of Tim’s to use for the message, he has to check. Lowering himself so that he’s propped up on one knee in front of Boles, Batman takes a sample of the blood and puts it on a scanner attached to his gauntlet. A second passes, and then a name match blinks on the scanner’s screen.

_Frank Michael Boles_

_Blood Type: A Positive_

The relieved breath that escapes him cannot be helped. Lowering his arm, Batman looks into Boles’ pale face, and for a moment feels a twinge of pity for the man double-crossed by the lunatic he had been working with for so many years.

Then he recalls the taunt Joker had made about Boles knowing Jason. And suddenly, all sympathy is gone from Batman, and a darker part of him is suddenly not sorry at all for what happened to Boles.

In fact, though he hates to admit it, part of him may actually be glad.

_He deserved it._

Gritting his teeth, Batman pushes away the grim thought and stands. He needs to focus. He can’t lose control – he has to find Tim.

But now his best trail is gone.

Batman turns away from Boles’ body and begins looking about him for any possible clues he could use. He only takes a few steps forward when he hears it.

Distant wails of terror. Pleas for release. Sobs of the damned.

Batman hurries towards the noise, and as he turns another corner he finds himself facing a large window that opens up into what looks to be a small employee recreation room. On the other side of the glass are about ten Arkham employees.

All of them are screaming.

“Help! _Please, help!”_

“No, NO! It – it’s coming for me!”

“Stop! STOP!”

“ _Help me!”_

Some are clawing at their own faces, tearing away blood and skin. Others are dragging themselves across the floor, or sobbing beneath tables. It’s complete chaos.

Batman instantly recognizes the symptoms of Dr. Jonathan Crane’s fear toxin. He frowns, wondering how long it had been since Joker had released Scarecrow, and who else he had freed in the past few hours. But now is not the time to worry about that; he knows that if the Arkham employees are left in that room for much longer, they will kill each other.

He needs to find a way inside. But a quick inspection of the room through the widow makes him pause in confusion; there are no doors. _That can’t be right._ His frown deepens, but he doesn’t have time to question it. Pulling out a Batarang, but takes a step back and heaves the weapon at the window. It strikes the center of the glass, and dozens of cracks spread out from it like an intricate spider web. But a second later, the cracks mold themselves back together and the window is as strong as ever.

Batman stares at the glass for a moment, perplexed. He hears the sound of footsteps and spins around, excepting Scarecrow to be lurking in the shadows.

No one is there. Trying to deny the hint of apprehension pricking at him, Batman turns back to the window.

Except that there is no window. The room is gone too, as are the people trapped inside. Instead, Batman is staring down a long, dark hallway lit only by eerie green lights. His muscles tense, Batman moves forward, eyeing his surroundings suspiciously. The walls are covered in mold and cobwebs, and the floor beneath his boots is slimy, making it hard for him to walk. It’s strangely quiet, save for his footsteps and the faint sound of something dripping onto the floor.

“Bruce?”

Bruce freezes. “Jason?” he asks, turning around.

Jason stands before him. Bruce blinks in surprise, staring at the small boy; this is not the Jason Todd he knows now. This Jason is years younger, looking no older than he was the day Bruce had caught him stealing the tires off of the Batmobile. He’s skinny, thinner than a boy his age should be. But that doesn’t keep that fierce spark from burning in his vibrant blue eyes. Bruce’s heart aches looking into those eyes; he hasn’t seen that same brightness in them for a long time. His gaze then falls upon Jason’s left cheek. It’s undamaged, showing no hint of Joker’s barbarous treatment.

Bruce reaches out, desperate to take the boy in his arms. But Jason pulls back, fear creeping into his expression.

“Where were you, Bruce?” Jason asks, his voice small and trembling.

Bruce’s brow creases in confusion. “What –”

“Why didn’t you protect me?” Tears well in the boy’s eyes.

“Jason…”

“Would you have killed him for me?”

Bruce freezes at the familiar question. He stares down at the child, who is watching him with the utmost sorrow. An unbearable sadness takes hold of Bruce as he looks into his son’s eyes, now seeing nothing but hopeless despair in them.

Then, without uttering a word, the boy turns and runs off.

“Wait!” shouts Bruce. Immediately he sprints after Jason, but somehow the boy has completely disappeared from sight, despite the fact they’re in a straight hallway. “ _Jason!”_

“I would have killed for you.”

Bruce whirls around at the second voice. It’s Jason’s, as he sounds now – much older and far more weary than how he sounded as a child.

Jason – the Jason at his correct age – stands in the middle of the hallway. The _J_ on his cheek is bleeding profusely, though he doesn’t pay it the slightest of mind. He is dressed in his old Robin uniform, and it is as tattered and bloody as it was the day Bruce had rescued Jason from captivity.

“I would kill them all, if it would make you love me,” Jason whispers brokenly. “Why won’t you do the same for me?”

“Because he doesn’t _truly_ care for you,” answers a new voice.

Bruce stiffens as the Joker emerges from the shadows, stepping forward so that he’s standing directly behind Jason. The Joker pulls out a knife and curls his arm around Jason so that the blade is pressed against the boy’s throat. Jason doesn’t make any move to try and break free.

Joker smiles. “Not like _I_ do.” Then the Joker wrenches the knife to the side, slitting open Jason’s throat.

“ _NO!”_ shouts Bruce. He rushes forward, catching Jason as he collapses. Choking, Jason emits gurgled gasps as blood gushes from his neck and onto the floor’s tiles.

“No, no, no,” Bruce mutters frantically, cradling Jason’s head. “Jason, don’t do this. _Stay with me._ ”

Jason’s eyes drift aimlessly, unfocused and glazed over. He gives a sob, and more blood spurts from his mouth, splattering onto Bruce’s front. Bruce is pressing his hands to Jason’s wound, but there’s just too much blood to stop. It keeps flowing, seeping through his fingers and drenching the both of them. A violent shudder ripples through Jason’s body…and then, he falls limp. Final tears leak from Jason’s eyes as they still, staring ahead blankly.

Bruce is openly weeping now. “No…no…”

“Now, now Brucey, don’t feel bad.”

Bruce snaps his head up, too much in shock to do anything but watch as the Joker crouches down in front of him and Jason.

Joker gives Jason’s head a pat. “These birds weren’t very sturdy to begin with; they were all going to bite the dust sooner rather than later. I think you and I both knew that. Trust me, you are _much_ better off without them.” He gestures to his left, and Bruce’s gaze follows to the far wall, where two bodies lay.

Dick is sprawled on his back, eyes open and empty. A deep gash runs across his abdomen, wide and jagged. Tim lies across Dick’s legs; his chest punctured by multiple stab wounds.

“ _No...please_. No, no, no…” Bruce moans. “This can’t be happening. This can’t…”

Joker glances from Dick and Tim back to Jason, and he gives a casual shrug. “Well, I think I’ll take this back then, since you won’t be needing it anymore.” Grasping Jason’s body beneath the armpits, the Joker tugs hard, wrenching the boy away. Panic seizes Bruce, and he tries to throw himself forward, the need to protect his children overwhelming. But Bruce finds that he can’t move a muscle; all he can do is watch as the Joker drags Jason over to where Dick and Tim are lying.

Dumping Jason beside the others, the Joker pulls out a knife from his sleeve. “Remember that wonderful night at the kindergarten, Bruce? Oh, what fun that was!” He taps the blade against his chin, then sends a malicious grin Bruce’s way. “Why don’t we do a repeat of that night? You missed the opening act the first time, so I’ll let you watch now. Too bad there’s only three of them, but maybe I’ll mismatch more than just limbs this time. Eyes…tongues…oh the possibilities…” The Joker crouches down beside the bodies, twirling his knife between blood-soaked fingers.

“ _NO!”_ Bruce roars. He twists violently, desperate to break free from the invisible hold restraining him. Using every ounce of strength he possess, Bruce rips himself up from the floor, agony blazing through him as he does so. With both grief and rage propelling him forward, he lunges at the Joker.

The moment his hands touch the Joker, everything dissolves away into a giant chasm. Then Bruce is falling, tumbling through the air while deranged laughter rings loudly between the chasm’s walls.

The edges of his sight are growing dim. Coldness seeps into Bruce’s body, but he welcomes it. If this is death, he will gladly embrace it. Anything if it means seeing his sons again.

Down he goes.

Into the black abyss.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you for all your comments! <3 I love every one of 'em!

Batman jerks upwards, sucking in ragged breaths as he fumbles about frantically. It takes him a good few seconds to get his bearings, but eventually he’s calm enough to focus.

He’s in one of Arkham’s corridors. The room with the Arkham employees is nowhere in sight, and he doesn’t recognize his current location at all. But that hardly matters.

 _The boys. Are they safe? Are they alive?_ The questions ravage his mind, and for a terrible moment he’s sure that they are all dead.

No. Dick and Jason are safe, back at Wayne Manor. Tim…Tim is captured, but alive. For now.

But he has to be sure. Batman presses two fingers against the side of his cowl. “Nightwing? Nightwing, come in. This is Batman.”

In answer, distorted static comes through the comm. Then silence.

“Dammit,” he mutters.

Batman squeezes his eyes shut, taking in deep, controlled breaths to clear his mind of the effects of the now obvious dose of fear toxin he had succumbed to. He can’t let it control him, he can’t allow it to twist his thoughts. He knows what is real. Dick, Jason, and Tim are still alive. They _have_ to be.

Letting out a low breath, Batman raises his head and looks around. He must have run into some of Scarecrow’s gas while trying to get into the employee room.

The employees. If they’re still alive, he needs to get them out. Pulling up the schematics of Arkham’s layout, he sees that he’s not far from the recreation room; in fact, he’s only ahead of it by about twenty yards. Batman rushes back to the room, shocked that he had gone such a short distance under the influence of the toxin – it had seemed so much further than that.

He pulls on his respirator as he approaches the now very visible door to the room, in case there is still leftover gases in the air. A single, rough kick to the door is all it takes to break it open.

He doesn’t even make it past the doorway. Lying about the room, in puddles of blood and with expression of pure terror still etched on their faces, are all ten victims. A simple look is all that is needed to see that all of them are dead.

Batman clenches his fists at the gruesome sight. He glances away momentarily in mournful silence, and the closes the door; he can’t do anything more for them now.

He continues on in the direction he had originally been heading, searching for any other clues to Tim’s whereabouts.

“Boys!” rings out Joker’s voice through the corridor speakers. “I hope you’ve been keeping a sharp eye out for our Dark Knight. I don’t want him meddling with my plans until I give the say so, _capiche?_ And I want all the doctors rounded up! Search every inch of the medical building. I mean it – search every room, and every office, and every trashcan! If another doctor tries to run and get out of the building, then _you_ won’t! I’ll just flood the room with happy gas and _leave you to die!_ ” Joker lets out a short chuckle. “I may do that anyway. Sounds fun.”

Batman stops, suddenly torn between what to do. Though he desperately wants to find Tim, if Joker wants the medical doctors, there must be a significant reason. And, unlike Joker’s hostage, they are expendable.

He can’t let them die, and he most certainly cannot let Joker get whatever it is he wants from them.

He has to believe that Joker’s dependence on keeping Tim alive will be enough for now. Squeezing his hands into tight fists, Batman hesitates, then turns to a window in the hallway and throws a Batarang at it, shattering the glass. Launching himself into the night, Batman shoots his grappling hook at the top of the building and pulls himself up over the side. Landing on the rooftop, Batman twists around, getting a view of Arkham’s grounds.

The medical building is northeast of where he stands; he should be able to get there in about three minutes. Running towards the roof’s edge, Batman leaps off, using his grappling hook to propel him towards the medical facility.

As he soars over the buildings, Batman spots a few clusters of Joker’s men scattered about the open grounds. They saunter about, looking rather cocky as they search for any sign of the Dark Knight. Shaking his head, Batman continues on, knowing that right now his priority is saving the doctors.

He lands on the medical building’s rooftop within two minutes and fifty-three seconds. Opening up the trapdoor to the Maintenance Access, Batman slinks down into it, moving through the ventilation system of the building quietly but quickly. Eventually he comes to a gated opening. Peering through it, he sees that he’s overlooking the Sanatorium, in which are multiple holding rooms.

“Get off of me!”

Narrowing his eyes, Batman squints through the gate to see a woman in medical scrubs struggling with a Blackgate prisoner, who is trying to pin her arms behind her back. Four other men surround them.

“Shut it!” yells the thug. “Get in there with the others. Move it!” He gives the woman a rough shove towards the open door of one of the rooms.

“Okay, okay, I hear you! I’m going!” the woman exclaims, stumbling through the doorway.

Batman tears off the gate to the ventilation shaft, then shoots his grappling hook at a gargoyle overlooking the Sanatorium. Noiselessly gliding through the air, he drops down on the first of the guards, smashing the man’s head into the tiled floor. Immediately, the other thugs rush at Batman. As Batman rushes forward to meet them, he grabs the shoulders of two of the men and uses their bodies to propel himself into the air. He spins around as he lands behind them, then reaches out and slams their heads together. Before they even finish crumpling to the floor, Batman smacks the gun away from the fourth man and knocks him out in two punches. The fifth man lunges forward with a knife, but Batman lurches out of the blade’s range and tosses a Batarang at the man’s arm, slicing through skin. Crying out, the thug immediately releases his weapon, and Batman delivers a kick to his abdomen, throwing him back against the wall. A final punch to the head is all that’s needed to render him unconscious.

Rolling his shoulders back as he straightens, Batman walks over to the room the doctor had been forced into. The door is unlocked, so he pushes it open with ease.

Crouching down and facing the walls are six doctors. At the sound of someone entering, two of them peer over their shoulders, fear sparking in their eyes. But then recognition crosses their faces and they spring up with cries of relief.

“Batman!”

“Batman, it’s you!”

At that, the rest of the doctors turn around, and soon all are hurrying over to Batman.

“Thank goodness you’ve come!” says one of the doctors. “They were getting ready to move us to where the Joker is.”

“And where is that?” asks Batman.

The man shrugs. “I don’t know; they wouldn’t tell us anything except that Joker wants to see all of us. Desperately, from how his men talked.”

Batman shifts his gaze over everyone present. “Do you have any idea of what Joker might want from you?”

Most of them shrug, giving uncertain replies. One woman, however, glances away, the flicker of shame in her eyes not missed by Batman.

“What about you?” Batman inquires, nodding at her. “Doctor…?”

“Young,” the woman answers. She gives a frustrated sigh. “Look, I don’t know what the Joker wants. However, I _need_ to get back to the Arkham Mansion. All my research notes are there; I can’t risk Joker getting his hands on them.”

Batman shakes his head. “It’s not safe there, doctor. The island’s a warzone – you won’t stand a chance.”

“It’s my life’s work!” protests Dr. Young.

“It’s not worth your life,” Batman says firmly. “I need to get you all to a safe place.”

Dr. Young sets her jaw. “You really don’t have the authority to –”

“I’ll get her there, Batman,” says a voice from the doorway.

Batman turns to see a tall, heavily built man walk into the room. Though initially tense at the new presence, upon recognizing the respected senior security guard, Batman relaxes his stance.

“Cash!” Dr. Young says, beaming at the officer. “Thank goodness, are you alright?”

“It’s just a bump on the head,” Officer Cash says. “Nothing to worry about.” He turns his attention to Batman. “I was escorting Dr. Young when a group of Joker’s thugs surprised us. They knocked me out, and I only just woke up a few minutes ago. Your rather loud rescue alerted me as to where Dr. Young and her colleagues were.”

Dr. Young takes a step closer to Cash. “Can you really take me to the Mansion?”

“Of course,” Cash says.

A grateful smile spreads across Dr. Young’s lips. “Thank you.”

“I don’t like this,” Batman says. “Splitting up is not a good idea.” He glances at Cash, his expression grim. “However, if you’re with her, then I suppose it’s the best we can do at the moment.”

Cash gives a shrug. “I’m sure we’ll be alright. But if we _do_ run into anyone…” He smirks. “If you ask me, it’s about time for a little payback.”

A frown slips onto Batman’s face. “Keep your communication lines open,” he says. “If you need help, I’ll be listening in.”

“That doesn’t surprise me in the least,” says Cash. Shaking his head, he gives a short wave, then follows Dr. Young out the door.

His face betraying none of his apprehension, Batman turns back to the five remaining doctors. “Alright, we’re going to head back to Intensive Treatment. There are more Arkham guards in that area, and they should be able to protect you.”

The doctors glance at each other anxiously, but do not protest as they are led out of the room.

Batman takes the group to the southwest entrance of the Medical Facility, and together they make their way across the asylum grounds in the direction of Intensive Treatment. They try to keep out of sight as much as possible, but as they cross a small courtyard heavy footsteps sound from behind them. Startled, the doctors spin around, peering into the darkness.

“Well, well, well,” says a raspy voice. “Looks like we hit the jackpot.”

“Doctors _and_ the Batman?” says another. “Joker’s gonna be psyched.”

From the shadows emerge seven Blackgate thugs. They quickly surround Batman and the doctors, brandishing weapons stolen from either Arkham security or the asylum’s armory. Vicious smiles spread across their faces as they move in.

“Let’s see how well you do against _us_ , Bat-freak,” one of the men says.

Gritting his teeth, Batman hovers his hand over a Batarang. “This doesn’t have to end in a fight,” he says. “Walk away, and I’ll be sure to lesson your sentences once you’re back at Blackgate.”

The thug laughs. “We ain’t ever going back there. And it looks like you’ll never be leaving this island after tonight.” He shifts his grip on the knife in his hand and takes a step closer.

Suddenly, something whirls past the Blackgate men and lands with a soft splat at the feet of the thug who had just spoken. His brow creasing in confusion, the man leans forward slightly, squinting into the dimness. Then the next second the small blob explodes, throwing the thug and the man closest to him through the air and into a half-wall behind them.

The other men glance around them anxiously, raising their weapons.

There’s a faint whizzing sound, and then two of the thugs flinch, clutching their necks. A second later they both collapse, unconscious.

“What the hell…” mutters one of the three remaining men.

Another splat, this time in-between two of the thugs.

“Fuck this,” the man closest to the new blob says. “Someone else can get the Bat.” Then he turns and races off, heading down a shadowy pathway stretched between two buildings.

The final two thugs glance at each other nervously, then run off in the same direction.

“Gee, you’d think they’d never seen knock-out darts before,” says a voice from a low hanging rooftop above Batman and the doctors. A figure flips through the air, landing perfectly on the pavement. Straightening, he flashes a smile at the group.

“Hi,” greets Nightwing.

“I still think it would’ve been more fun to just punch them all,” jokes another voice. A second figure drops to the ground beside Nightwing.

“You look like shit, Batman,” says the Gotham Knight.

Batman stares at the two in surprise. Part of him is overcome with relief at the simple sight of them standing there, _alive_ , and he wants nothing more than to grab onto them with his own hands, to reassure himself that this isn’t another toxin-induced hallucination. The other, more practical part of him, is…rather annoyed. And worried at what their presence here will mean now.

“What are you doing here?” he growls.

“You’re welcome for saving your butt,” Nightwing says, making an obvious effort to step onto the back of one of the unconscious thugs as he walks forward. “We heard over the comm that you needed to get these fine doctors to Intensive Treatment, so we thought we’d lend a helping hand.”

“The comms are down,” says Batman.

Nightwing shakes his head. “Not anymore. Oracle fixed that.”

Something vaguely close to offense flashes across Batman’s face. “I had everything under control.”

The Gotham Knight snorts. “Yeah, well, we brought back-up anyway.” He raises his hand and waves it forward. “The coast is clear, boys!”

The door to the building nearest them opens, and about ten Arkham security guards stream outside, quickly forming a protective circle around group.

“We picked them up here and there along the way,” says Nightwing. “And they’re more than happy to escort the doctors to Intensive Treatment, while _we_ go find Joker.”

Batman glances around at the surrounding guards, his frown deepening. But then he lets out a somewhat defeated breath and looks back at Nightwing and the Gotham Knight. “Fine.” He turns to the guards. “Do not let Joker’s men get even _one_ of these doctors.”

“Don’t worry about us,” assures one of the men. “We’ll keep ‘em safe. You just be sure to get that pasty faced bastard.” The man gestures to his companions, and together with the doctors they head in the direction of Intensive Treatment.

The Gotham Knight nods his head after the guard who had spoken. “I like him.”

“What are you both doing here?” Batman demands. “ _Especially_ you, Jason?”

“Oh, _I’m sorry_ , I didn’t realize we were using our real names,” Jason says in mock surprise, looking about him with an exaggerated swing of his arms.

No one seems to be in sight, but nevertheless, Dick nudges them all towards the door leading back into the Medical Facility. “Let’s talk in here, out of sight,” mutters Dick. Batman doesn’t look pleased at being prodded around, but he follows his sons inside a small, empty room within the facility without argument.

The moment the door shuts tight behind them, Bruce turns to face Dick and Jason, crossing his arms in disapproval. “Neither of you should be here,” he says sternly. “You both know Jason was to stay in his room until I got back.”

“Call me crazy, but I think Joker locking you inside Arkham with all of his buddies is a valid reason to break out of time-out,” Jason says.

Bruce gives Jason an exasperated look. “It doesn’t matter,” says Bruce. “Jason –”

“I haven’t gone psycho on anyone yet, if that’s what you’re going to ask,” Jason says in disgust. He pulls off his helmet, tucking it under his arm.

Bruce fights the urge to sigh in frustration. “Look –”

“And where’s Tim?” snaps Jason. “His tracer hasn’t shown up on the scanner all night.”

Bruce falls quiet, unwilling to answer as he glances between the two of them. But his silence is enough for Jason and Dick, confirming their fears.

“Where is he, Bruce?” Jason snarls. He takes a step closer. “Where the _hell_ is he?”

There’s a pause. “Jason…” begins Bruce. “Losing control is not going to help –”

“ _Where is he?”_ demands Jason, giving Bruce a hard shove.

Bruce grits his teeth. “The Joker has him.”

The words don’t even finish coming from Bruce’s mouth before Jason’s fist connects with his jaw, sending the larger man reeling back. Dick takes a hurried step forward, but Bruce holds out his hand, stopping Dick’s advance.

“You son of a bitch!” Jason shouts. “You were supposed to _protect_ him!” His furious gaze is easily matched with Bruce’s, who stands stock-still as he scowls at his son. “How could you, Bruce? How could let him take Tim?”

“I didn’t _let_ him do anything,” grinds out Bruce. “And your childish outbursts are doing nothing to help us get Tim back.”

“We have to find him,” says Jason, his words desperate in spite of his rage.

“We will, Jason,” Dick says, trying to keep his voice calm, even with his own rising panic. “I promise, we will.” He turns to Bruce, silently pleading for him to say something.

But neither Jason or Bruce pay attention to Dick; both are glaring at each other, their mutual anger blazing between them.

After a tense few seconds, Bruce glances at Dick. “How did you even get on the island?” he snaps.

Dick takes a moment to answer the question, shifting uncomfortably. “We, uh, went through the abandoned wing.”

Bruce’s eyes flicker back to Jason for the smallest instant.

“And you probably should know…” continues Dick. “We found Bane. In the level above the…one you sealed off.”

Surprise flashes across Bruce’s face. “What?”

Dick nods. “Yeah, he was strung up and being experimented on by a Dr. Young –”

“Dr. Young?”

Dick’s brow creases. “What, you know her?”

“She had left for the Arkham Mansion about twenty minutes ago,” says Bruce. “She needed to get her research notes.”

“And you just _let_ her go alone?” Jason asks in disbelief.

“Of course not,” huffs Bruce. “She went with Officer Cash.”

“Oh,” Jason says sarcastically. “Well _that’s_ a relief.”

Dick shakes his head. “Those research notes are probably the ones pertaining to her experiments on Bane. She was draining Venom from his blood, and when the Joker –”

“The Joker knows you’re here?” interrupts Bruce, fear seizing hold of him. “Both of you?”

“Is that really surprising, after everything else he’s gotten into tonight?” Dick says, raising his eyebrows. Then he gives an impatient wave of his hand. “Anyway, the Joker pumped Bane with this new kind of Venom. It was far more powerful than any other form of Venom I’ve seen before, and it made Bane a heck of a lot stronger than normal.”

“Also, the Joker had said something about Bane being ‘his business,’” adds Jason. “He’s either working with Dr. Young on this or forcing her to work _for_ him.”

“We need to get those notes,” Bruce says. “Now.”

“What about Tim?” asks Jason, crossing his arms.

Bruce grimaces, guilt pricking at him. “He’s more valuable to the Joker alive than dead. He’s safe – for now. But if Joker is after those notes, we can’t let him get them.”

“Then _you_ go after those notes,” Jason says. “I’m going after Tim.”

“No,” snaps Bruce. “You both should go back to the Manor; it’s not safe here.”

Dick rolls his eyes. “Is _anything_ we do in this line of work safe? Come on, Bruce. You can’t expect us to leave, especially with Tim out there.”

Bruce presses his lips together, his displeasure obvious. Finally, he gives an irritated sigh. “Fine. If you won’t leave the island, then you both need to stay with me. Splitting up will only make us easier targets for the Joker – we have to stick together.”

“I’m not going to abandon Tim,” snarls Jason.

“That’s _not_ what we’re doing,” Bruce says heatedly. “But our priority needs to be –”

“Needs to be _Tim_ ,” insists Jason. “We can’t leave him.” He gestures harshly to his disfigured cheek. “I’m living proof of what happens when Robins stay too long in the Joker’s hands.”

Bruce’s chest tightens as he stares at the scar. A sickening feeling pools in his stomach, but he ignores it, shaking his head. “I have to believe Tim can hold out for a little longer.” He clenches his hands, trying not to look as anxious as he feels. “Your boys’ safety is of the utmost importance, and I want Tim back just as much as you two. But I will not allow valuable information to fall into the Joker’s hands, and I certainly will not risk either of you being captured. You both have already disobeyed a number of my orders tonight, but now you will follow every single one I give here on out. _Do you understand?”_

Dick glances over at Jason, who avoids his gaze. Sighing, Dick turns back to Bruce. “Yes,” he says quietly.

Bruce frowns at his younger son. “Jason?”

There’s a pause. Looking extremely unhappy with the situation, Jason tightens his jaw. “Fine.”

Their answers do little to lesson Bruce’s agitation. “Neither of you will leave my sight. You will do _exactly_ as I tell you, and you will leave the Joker to _me._ ”

Neither Dick or Jason reply, but Bruce takes their lack of argument as consent enough. “Alright then,” he says. “Let’s go.”


	14. Chapter 14

“Nightwing, Gotham Knight? Are you there? Did you find Batman and Robin?”

Bruce tilts his head away from Dick and Jason. “We’re here, Oracle. We’re still at the Medical Facility, but we’re leaving for the Arkham Mansion right now to retrieve Dr. Young and her research notes.”

“Oh,” says Barbara. “Okay then. Hey, what’s up with Robin’s tracer? It’s not showing up on the scanners.”

Dick and Jason look at Bruce. Pressing his lips together in discomfort, Bruce sighs. “He…he’s been captured. By the Joker.”

There’s a long pause.

“Alright, well what do you need me to do?” Barbara finally asks. The fear in her voice is not hard to detect. “Do you have an idea on his location? I can –”

“Oracle,” interrupts Bruce. “We need to get Dr. Young’s notes first. We cannot risk them falling into Joker’s hands.”

“Trust me, Oracle, we’ve already said everything you could possibly say to Batman about this,” Jason cuts in bitterly.

Another beat of silence. “Right,” Barbara says. She sucks in a breath, and when she speaks next she sounds a bit more in control of herself. “Okay. Well, before you go, you might want to look at the stuff I found. Is there a computer or something you can plug into? I don’t think your gauntlets are equipped to display the massive amount of info I’m sending over.”

“I think there’s an office across the hall,” Dick says, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the door.

Bruce passes between Dick and Jason without comment, and leads them across the hall to a security office. Inside is a single desk equipped with a rather old-looking computer.

“This computer is fairly outdated,” Bruce comments, frowning at the dusty equipment. “But we’ll try it.”

“I sent all of the info to your wrist’s data device,” says Barbara. “It just finished downloading.”

Bruce lifts his left arm and presses a short sequence of buttons on his gauntlet. He waits for a second, then pulls out a small memory card from a thin slot by the underside of his wrist. Walking over to the computer, Bruce turns on the monitor and pushes the card into the computer’s reader. Immediately, a small blip on the screen pops up, alerting the user to the newly detected device. Bruce clicks on the folder, and dozens of files begin popping up.

By now, Jason and Dick had come up to either side of Bruce to get a better look at the monitor. The moment the files began opening the two of them lean in closer, narrowing their eyes at the odd data and charts being shown.

“What is all of this?” asks Dick.

“Bane was part of a project Dr. Young was heading,” Barbara replies. “It was big – lots of funding. The first document is of the last notes she filed, but I can’t make sense of them. What does it mean?”

Bruce’s brow creases in concentration as he skims through the files. “It looks like she was experimenting on the Arkham patients.” On the screen rotates a digital image of some type of chemical compound; a second tab opens up on the right side of the screen, displaying what seems to be a mutated version of it.

“Check it out,” Jason says, pointing to the data scrolling beneath both images. Below the compounds pop up labels in bright yellow letters; on the left side of the screen, _1.0A Venom_ , and on the right, _2.0B Titan_.

“I’ve never heard of anything called Titan before,” muses Dick.

Bruce waves his hand at the right-hand image. “This new chemical only barely resembles the original Venom compound. There are a number of changes that appear to amplify the strength of the drug.” He rubs a hand across his chin, thinking. “Based on what I can gather from these notes, even a small amount of this could trigger a Venom-like transformation in the host, eliminating the need for the storage tank Bane requires.”

“So this is what made Bane so…hard to take down,” Dick says.

“And Bane had pretty much been skin and bones before Joker pumped him full of this stuff,” points out Jason. “So if Titan can beef up skeleton-Bane to _that_ extent, think of what it could do to a healthy person.”

A grimace slips onto Dick’s face.

“Hang on,” says Bruce. “These notes aren’t complete – the Titan formula itself is missing.”

Dick edges closer to get a better look at the screen. “I’m gonna take a wild guess and assume that that’s what Dr. Young is so anxious to get from the Arkham Mansion.”

“And I’m betting Joker has found out where she’s going by now,” Jason says. “Since he’s been so camera-happy all night.”

Bruce pushes away from the computer and ejects the memory card. “We have to get to Dr. Young before Joker does,” he says, sliding the card back into his gauntlet. “If Joker gets a hold of that formula, he’ll create an army of a thousand Banes.”

Jason lets out a groan, pressing his hand to his forehead. “That sounds both ridiculous and horrible,” he mutters.

“Be careful guys,” says Barbara. “And…don’t hold off too long on going after Tim.”

Bruce is quiet. Then he turns on his heel and heads towards the door. “Come on,” he orders.

Jason and Dick exchanges glances, then hurry after Bruce outside the Medical Facility. Together, they shoot their grappling hooks at the roof’s edge, and swing up through the air, propelling themselves in the direction of the Arkham Mansion. None of them speak as they move across the building tops, each too wrapped up in their own thoughts.

“Guys?” Oracle’s voice comes in through their comms.

“Go ahead, Oracle,” answers Batman.

“I’ve been digging deeper into Dr. Young,” Oracle says. “According to her bank records, there have been multiple payments, starting last April until two months ago, then nothing. The payments came from a company owned by a Mr. Jack White.”

“One of Joker’s oldest aliases,” says Batman. Suddenly, something catches his eyes and he twists his head around, looking down onto the grounds beneath him.

Below is a group of about seven Blackgate men, surrounding and closing in on two unarmed Arkham security guards. Conflicted, Batman hesitates; he’d rather not be delayed, but he knows that they can’t leave the guards. Dropping down, Batman smashes his feet into the back of one of the thugs, sending him flying. He throws his fist into another man. “So,” he says. “Joker pays Dr. Young to create his army and all of the sudden stops. Doesn’t make any sense.”

“Hey, this is weird,” says Oracles. “The payments to Dr. Young’s account didn’t _stop_ exactly. They were declined. Dr. Young put a block on her account.”

By now Nightwing and the Gotham Knight have joined in on the fight. Oracle hesitates at the muffled sounds of bodies being hit and pained grunts coming through the comm. “You…guys alright?”

“We’re perfect,” Dick answers cheerfully, flipping over the head of a Blackgate thug and landing in front of him. He takes the man down in two punches.

Dropping to the ground behind a different thug, the Gotham Knight jams his elbow between the shoulder blades of the man, causing him to stagger forward. He kicks the man in the lower spine, sending him crashing into a wall. “Back to Dr. Young though,” he says. “It sounds like she had a change of heart, doesn’t it?”

A Batarang soars from Batman’s hand, knocking over another man. “It was her who tried to block the payments. Joker doesn’t like it when his partners try to back out.”

“So Joker decided to have Harley and their buddies get sent to Arkham to help break him out, and together they would find the Titan formula,” Nightwing concludes, grabbing onto the arm of a man and flipping him onto his back.

“Hence the convenient Blackgate fire,” adds the Gotham Knight.

Ducking beneath the swipe of a thug’s knife, Batman springs up and jams the heel of his palm into the man’s jaw, snapping his head back. He then swings his foot out, taking out the thug’s legs from beneath him and sending him crashing to the concrete. “Exactly,” growls Batman. He smashes his boot down onto the man’s face, knocking him out.

Batman raises his head to see Nightwing and the Gotham Knight standing amongst the other Blackgate men’s unconscious forms. Off to the side stand the Arkham guards, looking rather stunned. Ignoring the guards, the three of them begin to drag the men over to an outside plumbing pipe and securing them to it.

“I’ve hacked into Young’s email accounts,” Oracle continues. “Two emails stand out. The first is a resignation letter, dated last week. Sounds like she was trying to get away.”

Batman pulls out a pair of handcuffs. “And the second?”

“A message from the Joker, well, ‘Jack White,’” answers Oracle. “It’s a long thread, and she’s begging him to stop the experiments, says it’s too dangerous, he’s not listening…let’s see…random threats to her family and a couple of bad jokes…a picture of a dead baby, along with more threats…”

Having finished binding the last man to the pipe, Batman straightens. “Go on.”

“He says, ‘I’m coming for you, I want what I paid for.’ And then a joke about wheelchairs. Lovely.”

Nightwing’s hands clench ever so slightly at that.

Batman shakes his head. “No mystery as to why she’s so scared. Is there anything else?”

“No,” Oracle says. “But I’ll keep looking.”

“Good,” says Batman. “We’re almost to the Arkham Mansion. We should have Dr. Young soon, and then we’re going after Robin.”

“Okay,” Oracle replies. “Good luck.”

The comm link cuts out, and Batman turns to the two Arkham guards. “You alright?” he asks.

The guards nod nervously. “Th-thanks,” one of them stutters.

Batman doesn’t answer as he grapples to the nearest building’s rooftop.

“Stay safe boys,” Nightwing says, giving a salute. He and the Gotham Knight follow after Batman, and soon they land on the roof of the Arkham Mansion.

Originally built as the residence of Arkham Asylum’s founder, Amadeus Arkham, the old structure now holds nothing more than doctor’s offices, a library, and the Records Room. Though still beautiful in its architecture, it’s condition has suffered greatly over the decades. Moss and weeds have overtaken the grounds and outer walls, and the inside reeks of mildew and old plumbing. Having once been a greatness to behold, the mansion is now only another victim of Arkham’s decay.

Batman leads Nightwing and the Gotham Knight to a gate that opens into the mansion’s main ventilation system. Without a word, he tears it away and attached his grappling hook to the edge of the opening, swinging down into the darkness.

“Not gonna lie, I’m kind of sick of crawling through vents,” comments Dick, bending over to peer down the air shaft.

“ _I’m_ kind of sick of Batman’s general lack of verbal communication,” Jason says irritably.

“Maybe it’s a guilty silence,” Dick replies with a shrug. “I doubt it, but one can hope. Since we _should_ be going after Tim right now. At least, you and I should be.”

Jason turns, gazing off in the direction of Intensive Treatment. “We could just leave,” he says. “Bats is already down there; he wouldn’t catch on for at least ten more seconds. That’s plenty of time.”

Dick smiles, but shakes his head. “Tempting, but Batman’s probably going to need backup on this. Besides, he said we’d go after Tim once this is done.”

“Right,” snorts Jason. With a shake of his head, Jason swings down into the vent, closely followed by Dick.

The three of them move through the ventilation system quickly enough, and eventually drop into the west wing corridor of the building.

“Hey,” the Gotham Knight whispers. He nudges Nightwing in the side and bobs his chin forward.

Nightwing and Batman turn their heads in the direction the Knight had indicated and watch as Officer Aaron Cash stumbles out of a room up ahead. A Blackgate thug emerges after him; in his hands is a shotgun, the barrel of which he keeps pressed into Cash’s back.

“Keep moving!” the thug orders.

“Yeah, yeah,” Cash mumbles in annoyance. “I’m going.”

Two more men come out of the room, both carrying weapons.

Batman, Nightwing, and the Gotham Knight glance at each other, and then rush forward.

Cries of surprise erupt from Joker’s men, but even with their weapons they prove to be an easy take-down for the Dark Knight and his partners. Within three minutes the thugs are subdued, tied up, and locked in a storage closet. Once he’s satisfied that they won’t escape, Batman turns to Cash, who holds the collected weapons the thugs had been using.

“Thanks,” Cash says. He rubs the back of his neck, looking rather embarrassed. “I guess I did end up needing help after all.”

“It would have happened to anyone,” assures Batman. “Now, where is Dr. Young?”

Cash shakes his head, a worried expression creeping onto his face. “I’m not sure. We had just barely made it to the west wing when we were ambushed by eight of Joker’s men. Somehow, they knew we were coming and were waiting for us.” He shifts, adjusting his grip on the weapons. “I told her to run to her office and hide. I managed to take out a few of the men, but in the end I was just too outnumbered.”

“How long ago did this happen?” inquires Nightwing.

“About twenty minutes ago or so?” Cash answers uncertainly. “I’m not sure. They kept me in that room for a while with some other Arkham guards.”

“And where are they?” the Gotham Knight asks.

Cash averts his gaze, and a mournful sadness comes into his eyes. “They…didn’t make it.” He sighs. “Joker’s men were taking me outside to kill me too, until you three showed up.” Then he looks back at Batman, his eyes once again blazing with their usual determination. “But I need to find Dr. Young.”

“Her office,” Batman says. “Is that where she keeps her records?”

“Yes,” replies Cash. “That’s where we were heading before we were attacked.”

“I need to get those notes before Joker does,” says Batman. He frowns, gazing down the corridor as he thinks. “There’s a possibility Dr. Young wasn’t able to get to them in time. Which office is hers? I’d like to check and make sure they aren’t still in there.”

Cash points down the hall. “Turn the corner, and it’s the second office on the right.” He drops his arm and gives Batman a curious look. “What _is_ so important about those notes anyway?”

“Joker wants them. _That_ makes them important enough.”

“Whatever you say,” shrugs Cash. “Well, while you three are doing that, I’m gonna try the radio and take a look around. Maybe there are other guards nearby that can help out.”

Batman nods. “Contact me if you need anything.”

“Sure thing,” says Cash. “And good luck.”

“You too.”

Cash leaves in the direction of the eastern wing, and Batman, Nightwing, and the Gotham Knight head to Dr. Young’s office. The door is locked, but Jason picks it easily enough, and soon the three are inside, gazing about the cluttered room.

Stacks of files lay about the room in haphazard piles, along with dozens of miscellaneous books. In the middle of the room is a large desk, which is rather bare on its surface, except for a generic office computer and a few bottles of medicines and herbs. Beside the desk is a metal trash bin, from which a faint burnt smell emanates from. Bruce looks into it to see the charred remains of a thin pile of documents. Completely blackened, they’re impossible to read.

“Cheery place,” Jason mutters, gazing about the dimly lit office.

“Look,” Dick says. He points to the far wall, in which a safe had been built into. The door to the safe hangs open, revealing only emptiness inside. “Someone already got to the safe. Which is where I’m guessing Dr. Young’s research notes had been.”

Jason makes his way over to the safe and pokes the door open even wider. “So the only question now is, who opened it?”

Bruce glances back at the office door they had just come through and the surrounding windows that face the hallway. “No sign of forced entry,” he observes. “Whoever opened the safe knew the combination.” He walks over to the computer and pulls up the security camera video history for the office. Jason and Dick come up to the desk as Bruce starts the video from the time stamp of about twenty minutes ago, and together they watch as Dr. Young rushes into the camera’s frame. Opening the safe, she snatches a file from within it and pulls the metal trashcan over to her. She drops the research notes into the bin, and then grabs a box of matches from her top desk drawer. Lighting one, she tosses it onto the file.

Seconds pass, with Dr. Young simply staring at the notes, as though doing so would make them burn faster. Flames lick upwards, but they never leave the safety of the trashcan. Suddenly, two Blackgate thugs burst into either side of the camera frame and grab onto Dr. Young’s arms, pinning them behind her back. She struggles against them, shouting insults and protests as she is dragged off screen. A third man hurries over to the trashcan and stomps out the fire. He leans down, and the look on his face is enough to see that he realizes the research notes are destroyed beyond usage. The man shouts something, and then moves out of the frame. Another second passes, and then Bruce ends the video.

Dick runs a hand through his hair nervously. “Well, at least she burned the notes.”

“Yes, I’m sure Joker is kindly thanking her for her services as we speak,” says Jason.

“He’s going to torture the formula out of her,” Bruce says grimly. “That’s the only thing left he _can_ do. We need to find her before he gets it.”

Dick sighs. “Okay, so where do we look? She could be anywhere.”

Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, Bruce turns back to the door leading into the hallway. “We might have our answer stuffed in the west wing’s storage closet.” He waves the boys forward and walks over to the door. “Come on, we’ve got a few questions to ask some Blackgate lowlifes.”

/

The hood that had been pulled over Dr. Young’s head is starting to itch…a lot. It also smells, but Dr. Young knows better than to complain as she is led out of the Arkham Mansion and across the grounds of the island. After what seems like at least ten minutes of walking, she is led down a staircase of some kind. Wherever they are now, it’s much colder than it had been at the top of the stairs. Dr. Young wonders if they’re underground – perhaps in a maintenance tunnel. She is pushed forward a few yards, and then turned to the right.

Finally, the hood is yanked from her head, revealing a simple iron door with a tiny glass window. Before Dr. Young can adjust her sight to the dimness to peer through it, a guard comes forward and unlocks the door, pulling it open.

“Get in there,” the man holding onto her arm growls. He gives Dr. Young a hard shove, and she goes sprawling onto the floor of the room. An instant later the door clangs shut.

Dr. Young groans as she sits up, rubbing her arms against the chill seeping into her body. There’s no furniture in the room of any kind, except for rows of shelves lining the walls to the left and right of her. They’re mostly empty, save for a few empty plant pots and some rusty gardening equipment. The vague scent of mold and, oddly, what Dr. Young can only guess to be vomit lingers in the air, making her feel sick. Scrunching up her nose, she turns around to get a better look at her surroundings. Upon seeing what had been behind her she freezes, staring in surprise.

“Robin?” she breathes.

The boy is tied to a chair pushed to the back of the room, his arms wrenched behind his back and his legs securely bound. His uniform looks filthy, and he’s missing his cape, boots, and utility belt. Wrapped around his head is a blood-soaked strip of cloth servicing as a rather poor bandage.

At the sound of the new voice, the messy head of hair lifts, revealing a pale, bruised face. Dr. Young sucks in her breath as the boy’s gaze wearily latches onto hers; he looks incredibly young, especially for someone to be working alongside the Batman.

“Shit…” Dr. Young whispers, pushing herself to her feet and stumbling over to his side. “What the…what the hell did they do to you?”

“Who’re…you…” slurs Robin. He licks his cracked lips, trying to swallow and wet his dry throat. The attempt isn’t very successful.

“Dr. Young,” she answers. Her hands immediately go to the ropes securing Robin’s arms to the back of the chair and she begins tugging at them desperately. But as she pulls at the ropes enwrapping his left arm a horrible moan escapes the boy, and a closer glance shows her what is wrong.

“Your wrist…it’s broken,” she says in horror. “It shouldn’t be tied back like this, it –” She clenches her jaw. “Did they do this?”

Robin shakes his head. “Fell,” he mutters. “Hit my head too.”

That doesn’t do much to diminish Dr. Young’s anger. Her fingers curl around the ropes. “Okay, I’m going to untie your arms, so prepare yourself – it’s going to hurt.”

Biting his lip, Robin squeezes his eyes shut and nods. Dr. Young works as quickly as possible to undo the knots, but every once in a while a small whimper emanates from the boy whenever she gets too close to the broken joint. By the time the bindings finally fall away, his face has taken on a sickly pallor.

Settling Robin’s arms in his lap, Dr. Young leaves the broken wrist alone for the moment, unsure how to continue without any kind of medical supplies. She undoes the bindings holding his legs down and then straightens, gently tilting Robin’s head up to get a better look at his injuries. He’s still wearing his mask, but his eyes remain visible, allowing her to check them for signs of a concussion. Dr. Young pulls out a small flashlight from her scrubs’ pocket and clicks it on; with one hand cradling the back of Robin’s head, she flashes the light in his eyes. At first, Robin flinches away from the intruding brightness, but after a moment he adjusts and obediently looks into the light.

Sure enough, his pupils remain dilated. “Do you feel nauseous?” Dr. Young asks.

Robin nods. “Got a massive headache too.”

Dr. Young turns the flashlight off and slips it back into her pocket. “Any ringing in the ears?”

Robin squints his eyes, as though remembering the answer to the question is more difficult than it should be. “At first…I think. It’s not as bad now.”

“Well, you definitely have a concussion,” sighs Dr. Young. She frowns at the bruising peeking out from the edges of the left side of his mask. “What happened to your eye?”

“That…that was them,” Robin murmurs. “I had an extra Batarang hidden up my sleeve…managed to escape after waking up the first time.”

“With a broken wrist?” Dr. Young asks in disbelief.

A smirk pricks at the edge of Robin’s mouth. “Yeah.” He quickly sobers. “But they caught me before I could even get outside. The black eye was a warning.”

Dr. Young grinds her teeth, outraged at the boy’s treatment. “Bastards…” she mutters. “What else did they do to you?”

“They’ve pretty much left me alone since.”

Shaking her head, Dr. Young turns her attention back to the broken wrist and carefully takes it in her hands. Robin flinches at the touch, but he doesn’t try to pull away.

Her movements gentle, she turns the relatively straight wrist over, examining the swelling with a critical eye. “I’m assuming it had been at a pretty horrid angle when broken,” she says. “Who set it?”

“Me,” Robin answers. Dr. Young stares at him in surprise, but Robin gives a small shrug. “After I cut myself free, I knew it had to be done. So I set it.” He grimaces. “Even though my headache and nausea had been a lot worse then.”

Dr. Young’s eyes catch sight of a shallow pool of vomit a few feet from where she’s kneeling. She’s not surprised to see it; it’s an expected symptom for one suffering from a severe blow to the head to have, let alone a person who sets their own wrist while suffering from such a concussion. Giving Robin a sympathetic look, she rests a hand on his shoulder.

“So what’re you doing here?” he asks, his voice faint. “I doubt Harley sent you just to be nice.”

Dr. Young bites her lip. “Joker wants something from me,” she admits. “I assume I’m just here to wait until he comes.”

“You know what it is he wants?”

“Yes,” Dr. Young says darkly. “But I won’t give it to him, no matter what.”

Robin nods, looking too out of it to respond. Dr. Young studies the boy’s face momentarily before her eyes fall back to his left arm, which still lies limp on top of his leg.

“I need to splint your wrist, before any further damage is done to it,” Dr. Young says. She glances about her for anything she might be able to use. Then she looks at the chair Robin is sitting in, and a sudden light sparks in her eyes. “The chair! We’ll use that. Here…” She bends forward and takes Robin’s good arm, wrapping it around her shoulders. Then she helps him down to the floor of the room and settles him against the wall.

“I can help –” Robin begins.

“Not a chance,” says Dr. Young firmly. “Just sit there and rest.” Grabbing the top of the chair’s back with one hand and the edge of the seat with the other, she tilts the entire thing so that it’s slanted at a forty-five-degree angle. Then she slams her foot down onto where the back connects to the seat, and the wood gives a loud crack, falling away.

Taking what had been the chair’s back, she brings her foot down again, this time breaking the frame and freeing the two planks of wood that had made up the main part of the piece.

“Ah-ha!” exclaims Dr. Young. She holds up the two lengths of wood in triumph and kneels down in front of Robin. Setting them aside, she begins tearing off strips of cloth from the bottom of her shirt. Then she reaches for Robin’s arm. “Now, hold as still as possible.”

Careful not to jostle the wrist any more than necessary, Dr. Young secures the broken joint between the two planks of woods, using the strips of cloth to hold it in place. It doesn’t take long, though by the time she finishes, Robin looks like he might throw up again. He doesn’t though, and instead gives Dr. Young a grateful look.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

Suddenly, the door to the room unlocks and opens, and Harley Quinn all but skips into the room, flanked by two guards. Dr. Young spins around at the loud entrance; upon seeing who has entered, she moves herself slightly in front of Robin.

“Hiya, doc!” Harley quips. “I just came down to let cha know that Mister J is on his way as we speak. He’s _very_ excited to talk to you.”

“Both of you can go to hell,” spits Dr. Young. “I won’t tell that son of a bitch anything.”

Hardly bothered by the response, Harley’s lips stretch into a smile. “We’ll see about that.” Her gaze pulls away from Dr. Young and focuses upon Robin. “How ya doing, junior?”

Robin only glares in response.

Dr. Young’s anger quickly fades to worry. “Quinn, you have to give me some medical supplies,” she pleads. “He’s in desperate need of proper treatment.”

Harley turns up her nose in a rather pouty manner. “That’s cute! Asking for help after insulting both me and my pudding.”

Dr. Young cringes, but remains undeterred. “Please, Quinn.”

“Sorry doc, no can do.”

“He’s just a boy!” Dr. Young exclaims furiously.

Something flickers in Harley’s eyes at that. “Well,” she says. “He’s certainly not the first one I’ve had under my care.” She gives a shrug. “He’ll be fine – for now. _You_ , on the other hand, are coming with us.”

“No, she’s not,” snarls Robin. He shifts, trying to rise, but Dr. Young holds out a hand to stop him.

Harley laughs. “You are in no condition to argue, little birdie.” Her attention flickers back to Dr. Young. “Time to go, doc.”

The two guards that had come in with Harley walk forward. One of them places handcuffs on Dr. Young’s wrists and yanks her to her feet, all but dragging her to the door.

“Hey!” Robin shouts, lunging forward. But the other guard swings out a leg, kicking the boy in the stomach and slamming him into the ground.

“Don’t touch him!” screams Dr. Young. “Don’t you dare touch him!” Struggling against the man holding her, she’s pulled down the hall and out of sight.

The remaining guard stands over Robin, who is curled up in the dirt and gasping for breath. The guard raises his foot once more, but then Harley speaks out, making him pause.

“Oh come on, Mikey!” she says. “Mister J will be here any minute, and I wanna be out front when he arrives.”

“What about him?” the guard grumbles, nodding down at Robin. “The doctor untied him; we should secure him again.”

Harley waves her hand nonchalantly. “He ain’t going nowhere. Send over Ricky and Milo to stand outside the door if it’ll make ya feel better. But I’m losing patience – let’s _go_.”

Looking unhappy with her answer, the guard nevertheless follows Harley outside. The door clangs shut again, and the locks slide back into place. By the time Robin manages to push himself back up from the floor, two new guards stand outside, guns in their hands and their attentions fixed on the room’s door.

Frowning, Robin settles back against the wall, frustration rising in him as he tries to think of a new way to escape.


	15. Chapter 15

“I won’t tell you nothin’!” shouts the Blackgate thug. His attempts to sound intimidating might have been admirable to some, but regardless, there is an unmistakable hint of fear in his voice that Batman can’t help but _almost_ smirk at.

“That’s what your friend said before you,” says Batman. He moves closer to the edge of one of the Arkham Mansion’s balconies, off of which he is dangling the thug by his ankle. His grip on the man purposefully slips a tad, and the thug lets out an involuntary yelp. “Before my arm got tired and I accidently let him go.”

Blatant fear sparks in the thug’s eyes now. “Y-you’re lying!” He glances at the grounds below, searching for any sign of the previous man Batman had already interrogated.

“I’ve got one more of you dirtbags left to question after I’m done here,” continues Batman. “So I’m not all that concerned if I have to… _move on_ from you.” His hand loosens just a bit more.

“Y-you won’t drop me,” sputters out the man. “You don’t kill! _You don’t kill!”_

“This height won’t kill you,” says Batman. “But it will hurt like hell, and break _multiple_ bones.”

“You wouldn’t,” the man says, his voice breaking on the last word. “You wouldn’t!”

Batman raises an eyebrow. Then he opens his hand, and the thug tumbles through the air.

The man screams, flailing about frantically as he plummets towards the concrete. Then he feels something wrap around his ankle, yanking him upwards and onto another balcony. He hits the surface with a hard thud, groaning in pain.

A second later Batman lands beside him. The man glances up at Batman in fear, clutching his ankle that’s enwrapped in a heavy cord, the end of which is attached to a Batarang.

“Okay, okay!” exclaims the man, scooting back a few inches. “Just…just _stop!”_

“I’m on a tight schedule,” growls Batman. “Start talking, or I’ll drop you again.”

The man nods his head shakily. “W-we…we’re supposed to bring the doctors to Quinn. She’s hiding out in the storage facility, by the gardens.”

“What about the Joker? Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” gasps out the man. “I swear – they wouldn’t tell us.”

“And Robin?” Batman demands. He bends down, wrapping his hand in the front of the man’s shirt and pulling him up so that their faces are only inches from each other. “What have they done with him?”

“I-I…I’m not sure. No one’s heard really anything; Joker’s hasn’t said much about the kid.”

“You’re going to have to do better than that,” Batman snarls.

“He has to be with Joker or Quinn,” the man insists. “There’s no one else they’d trust with him – I’m sure of it. That’s all I know, I _swear._ ”

Batman studies the man. “I believe you.” The next instant, Batman thrusts his fist forward, knocking out the thug in a single punch. As he cuffs the man to the balcony railing, the French doors leading into the mansion open, and Nightwing and the Gotham Knight step outside.

“Are the other two detained?” Batman asks.

Nightwing nods. “Yeah, including the first one you ‘dropped’ off the rooftop. They aren’t going anywhere.”

“So did you get it?” the Gotham Knight cuts in impatiently.

“Harley’s in the underground storage facility bordering the Botanical Gardens,” says Batman. “Dr. Young should be there, and there’s a good chance Robin is too.”

Hope floods Nightwing’s expression at that, and the Knight’s body language alone tells Batman that the same emotion is running through him.

Quickly, Nightwing pulls up his copy of the digital layout of Arkham’s grounds. “Okay,” he says, squinting at the image. “It looks like the best way for us to get into the facility is by taking a back staircase on the western side of the Botanical Gardens. To get to it you just go through a set of trapdoors built directly into the ground.” Reverting the hologram back into his gauntlet, Nightwing glances up at Batman. “Seems simple enough.” Then he turns and jumps off of the balcony, shooting his grappling hook at a building in the direction of the gardens.

The Knight shrugs, and then he and Batman follow, simultaneously launching themselves into the air.

/

It’s fairly deserted to the west of the Botanical Gardens, so they don’t run into too much trouble as they make their way across the grounds. But as they approach the entrance to the storage facility, there’s the distinct sound of muffled voices. Batman ushers Nightwing and the Gotham Knight behind a tall wall of bushes, and together they wait.

The trapdoors leading to the staircase shift, and a second later are pushed open from the inside. As the heavy metal clangs to the ground, a shadowed figure emerges, followed closely by two more. Two of the figures are clearly men, and bulky ones at that, but the third – who is being held tightly against the second man – is much shorter and slimmer in stature.

“Joker said to move her to the Penitentiary!” says one of the men. “So that’s what I’m gonna do. After what Joker did to Carl and Antonio earlier, I’d rather not piss him off.”

“She looks like crap though,” the other one says. “If she dies on us, that will _definitely_ piss Joker off.”

“That’s Dr. Young with them,” says Batman, careful to keep his voice low. A frown crosses his face as he gets a better look at the woman.

It’s clear that she’s already been tortured – mercilessly. Dr. Young’s face is littered with bruises and cuts, as are her arms. Her joints are swollen from broken bones, and one of her eyes is bloodshot from a popped blood vessel. Also suffering from a severe limp, she’s having a hard time keeping up with the men.

Nightwing and the Gotham Knight look at each other grimly, and together they pull out Batarangs. A second later, both weapons are flying through the air.

They hit their marks perfectly; the two thugs barely make a sound as they drop into crumpled heaps. Dr. Young is pulled down with them, and she lets out a pained cry as she strikes the ground.

Immediately, Batman, Nightwing, and the Gotham Knight move out into the open and rush over to her. Batman reaches her first; carefully, he pulls her away from the Blackgate men and cradles her head in his lap.

“Dr. Young?” he says urgently.

Dr. Young’s eyes dart about for a moment, unable to focus. They finally land on Batman, and upon recognizing who is holding her, she lets out a breathy sob. “B-Batman…”

Dick shifts closer to the doctor and pulls out a roll of gauze.

“No.” Dr. Young shakes her head. “It won’t…matter. I’ve…multiple broken bones…internal bleeding for...a while now…”

Jason is suddenly very glad he has a helmet covering his face. As he stares down at yet another victim of Joker’s torture a myriad of emotions swells in him, making it hard for him to concentrate.

Tears are dripping down Dr. Young’s face, mixing in with the blood there. “I’m s-so sorry. I wanted to stop the experiment, but…Joker…”

Batman rests a hand on the side of her head. “It’s alright.”

“He wants an army.” Dr. Young coughs, and blood splatters from her mouth, speckling her already stained clothes. “But he needed…the formula…”

“It’s okay,” Dick says. “We know you burnt the notes.”

Dr. Young gives another sob. “No. No, Joker…h-he got it from me. I tried…I tried to so hard…”

Jason turns away from a moment, digging his hands into the dirt he’s kneeling upon. Dick glances up at Jason worriedly, but Bruce stays focused on Dr. Young, keeping his voice steady and earnest as he speaks. “We’ll stop him. I promise.”

“There’s a lab,” continues Dr. Young. “In the gardens…” She coughs again, and flinches at the pain the movement brings. “I…I’m so sorry…”

“You’ve got to hang on, Dr. Young,” Dick says. “We’re going to get help.”

But Dr. Young doesn’t seem to be listening. She draws in a ragged breath, staring at nothing in particular as another wave of pain rolls through her. Then, with a soft sigh, her eyes slowly close. She clings to Batman’s cape for a moment longer, and then her body falls limp in his arms.

Dick looks at Bruce, shock and sorrow mixing in his eyes. “Batman…”

“There was nothing we could have done,” Bruce says solemnly. He closes his eyes for a moment, and then gently lays the doctor’s body on the ground. “Joker’s torture had been too much; her body simply couldn’t handle it.”

Jason stiffens at that.

“Knight?” Dick asks tentatively. He lowers his voice significantly, though the concern in it only heightens. “Jay?”

Jason doesn’t speak for a moment. “I’m fine,” he finally mutters.

Bruce hesitates, then lays a hand on Jason’s arm. “Jason, there’s nothing we could have done.”

Jason nods, still facing away from them. He takes in a shuddering breath, and then stands. “We need to get Tim back – _now.”_

Dick glances at Bruce apprehensively, and together they stand. Without a word, Jason begins descending the staircase, Dick and Bruce close behind him.

They barely reach the bottom of the stairs before they see a door further down the hallway open up. Out walks Harley Quinn, twirling one of her pigtails between her fingers and looking fairly pleased with herself.

Batman immediately reaches for a Batarang, but before he even finishes taking it out, a guard emerges from the same room Harley had come out of, pulling a young boy with him.

“ _Robin!”_ Jason shouts.

Harley and the guard snap their heads towards the staircase, surprise on their faces as they see who is standing there. Tim is unable to do little more than shift his gaze to them, as he is being held in a tight chokehold by the guard. He tries to struggle against the burly arm wrapped around his neck, but it’s obvious that a lot of his oxygen is being cut off; already, his face is bright red.

“Oh, shucks!” Harley pouts. “I thought we were in the clear.”

“Tell your goon to let him go, Harley,” Dick snarls, holding out his Escrima sticks. “Before this becomes a lot more messy than it needs to be.”

“Oh, but I like messy!” says Harley. “It’s just _so_ much more fun!” Then, her movements surprisingly quick, she pulls out a small hand grenade and yanks out the pin. Giggling hysterically, she chucks it directly at the three.

“Move!” Bruce shouts. Spinning around, he jumps forward, engulfing Jason and Dick in his cape as he shoves them to the floor.

The grenade explodes in the air, throwing the three back against the staircase. They take a second to recover, and then scramble to their feet to see Harley, the guard, and Tim disappear around the corner up ahead of them. With Batman in the lead, they sprint down the hall.

The storage facility is a little more than a single corridor lined by small rooms, so there really isn’t anywhere for Harley to go except forward. Which is what she does, until the hallway finally ends by opening up into a large equipment transfer room. Crates and boxes are pushed up to either of the side walls, and on the far side of the room is a large elevator, towards which Harley and the thug are dragging Tim. Upon bursting into the room, Bruce throws a Batarang at the elevator’s control panel, smashing it and rendering it useless. He, Dick, and Jason continue running forward, not slowing even as Harley spins around and pulls out a brightly painted gun, firing at them.

Her clumsy aim gives them plenty of room to dodge the bullets, and Dick easily knocks the gun from her hands as Jason and Bruce launch themselves at the guard holding Tim.

The thug throws Tim aside as Batman flies at him, fists raised and a furious snarl on his face. Jason abandons the fight without hesitation to grab Tim, yanking him away from the chaos and pulling the both of them to the floor.

“Robin? _Robin?”_ Jason asks desperately, placing his hands Tim’s shoulders to steady the boy. “Say something, buddy.”

Tim is gasping and coughing wildly as he strains to draw in breaths of air. But he gradually calms, and his body shudders in exhaustion as he raises his gaze to Jason.

“Kn…Knight?” he whispers hoarsely.

“Yeah, man,” Jason chokes out happily. He presses one hand to the side of Tim’s face, running his thumb against the dirt and sweat smudged there. “You’re okay. You’re alright, we’ve got you.”

By now the room has gone mostly quiet, and all Jason needs is a quick glance over his shoulder to see Harley and her guard slumped up against the wall, unconscious. Bruce and Dick are hurrying to their side, and soon Bruce is taking Tim into his arms, clutching the boy to him tightly. “I’m so sorry, Tim,” he says quietly. He wraps his hand around the back of Tim’s head, pressing his son’s face into the crook of his neck.

“S’okay, Bruce,” Tim says, his voice muffled. “Not your fault.”

Bruce heaves in a deep breath and pulls away, studying Tim’s face with concern. But before he can say anything else, Dick leans forward and gives Tim a fierce embrace of his own.

“Dammit, Tim,” he manages to get out. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

“Sorry,” smiles Tim. Then he winces, moving away from Dick’s touch. “Ow…” he mutters, glancing down at his left arm.

Jason’s eyes widen at the sight of the makeshift splint. “What happened?” he asks. A sudden hardness takes hold of his voice. “Did they do this to you? _Did they?”_

Tim shakes his head. “No, it happened when I fell down the air shaft.” He coughs again, grimacing as the action disturbs his already raw throat.

Bruce pulls out a hydration pill and gives it to Tim, who takes it gratefully. Upon swallowing it a pained expression flashes across his face, but he seems to relax somewhat after a few seconds pass.

“What else did they do, Tim?” Jason presses, the fury in his tone almost palpable. “Did they do anything else to you?”

“No,” Tim says wearily, trying to look as nonchalant as possible so as not to further upset Jason. “Not really.”

“Let me see your wrist,” Bruce says. Tim obediently lifts his arm, and Bruce carefully takes the broken joint in his hands to examine it. “Who splinted it?” he asks.

“Dr. Young,” Tim answers.

Jason and Dick glance at each other in surprise.

“What?” asks Tim. “You know her?”

Dick bites his lip, hesitant to answer. “She…she’s dead.”

A sudden, deep sadness sinks into Tim’s eyes. He nods, then drops his gaze to the splint, staring at it solemnly. Slowly, Dick reaches out and lays a hand on Tim’s shoulder. Tim doesn’t shrug him off, but he certainly doesn’t lean into the touch.

Bruce keeps his attention on Tim’s wrist, which he begins to unwarp. Tim flinches harshly as Bruce works, but Dick and Jason edge closer, and their presence steadies Tim somewhat as Bruce works on making a sturdier and cleaner splint from the medical supplies in his utility belt.

Soon the new splint is in place, and Bruce gives Tim a pain-reliever pill. Its effects aren’t as fast as the hydration pill, but Tim doesn’t complain as Bruce goes on to check his other injuries.

“The wrist is the worst of it,” Bruce finally concludes. “There’s not much I can do for the black eye right now. I know it must hurt to keep on the domino mask, but I have to insist that you do so until we’re off the island.”

Tim nods. “I wasn’t planning on taking it off,” he says, giving a weak smile.

Bruce is silent, and an odd look crosses his face – guilt, or unease, perhaps. He gives Tim’s shoulder a gentle pat and stands, helping the boy to his feet. Dick and Jason rise as well, both turning to look at Harley and the thug’s limp forms.

Jason sneers at the sight. “What should we do with them?”

“Lock them in separate storage rooms,” Bruce says. “It’s the best we can do for now.” Frowning in distaste, he walks over to Harley and crouches down in front of her, studying her costume closely.

“What are you looking for?” asks Dick. He steps closer to Tim, allowing the younger boy to hold onto his shoulder for support.

“An Arkham security card,” muses Bruce. “She should have one somewhere on her…ah.” Reaching out, he plucks the card from the front pocket of Harley’s costume. He straightens and pulls Harley’s body off of the ground, slinging her over his shoulder. “Jason, get the guard and follow me.”

Walking over, the first thing Jason does is roughly tug off the man’s boots, which he then tosses to Tim. “They’re probably a bit too big,” says Jason. “But it’s better than nothing.” Then he grabs onto one of the guard’s ankles and drags the man across the room, looking thoroughly unconcerned as he follows Bruce into the storage facility’s hallway. Bruce chooses one of the closer rooms to put Harley in, laying her on the floor carefully, while Jason unceremoniously dumps the guard in a room a little further down. Tempted to smash the man’s face in with his foot, Jason pointedly looks away from the thug as he shuts the door, stepping aside so Bruce can lock it with the security card.

“So,” Dick says cheerfully, having followed Bruce and Jason into the hallway with Tim. “Who’s up for a stroll through the gardens?”

“As long as there’s some form of payback involved, hell yeah,” replies Jason.

Tim smirks, rolling his eyes.

Bruce eyes the three of them sternly. “Just be sure to –”

“Be cautious, stay by you, and stay clear of ugly clowns,” Dick interrupts. “Got it.” Still holding onto Tim, Dick gives Jason a light smack on the shoulder as they move past him. “Let’s go mess with a lunatic’s lab.”


	16. Chapter 16

“Whoa,” breathes Tim. He takes a step forward, tilting his head back to stare at their surroundings in awe.

Jason can’t help but share Tim’s sentiment. They’ve just gotten into Arkham’s Botanical Gardens, and the sight is surprisingly impressive.

The roof hangs at least three stories above their heads, enhancing the already spacious feel of the building. The walls of the room are made of rock, acting like small cliffs rising up on either side of them. Various trees and roots press up against the walls, trailing onto the glass ceiling, while vines hang between overhead tree branches, twisting together and creating a sort of canopy. Thick bushes dot the ground, following the edges of pathways and gathering around tree trunks. At the far end of the gardens is an artificial waterfall, which flows into the room from an outside source. Dropping down into a thin river, the water curves its way to the opposite end of the gardens, where it disappears into a sewer gate.

“Yeah…” says Dick. “Whoa.”

“Stay focused, boys,” Bruce says grimly. “We need to find Joker’s lab.”

With Bruce in the lead, and Dick and Jason on either side of Tim, the four of them continue further into the gardens. It’s fairly quiet, save for the soft rushing of the waterfall, and the crunching of gravel and fallen leaves beneath their feet. Jason can’t help but hold out his hand ever so slightly as he walks, allowing his gloved fingers to run across the tops of the flowered bushes bordering the pathway. The rustling of the leaves beneath his touch brings a small smile to his face, and once again he finds that he is very grateful he has a helmet covering his head.

Tim’s eyes flicker over to the source of the quiet sound, and though he doesn’t comment, the corner of his lips twitch upwards the tiniest bit as he watches Jason.

“Shouldn’t there be, you know, _guards_ or something?” Dick asks, glancing about them in bewilderment. “This is just weird.”

“Wherever Joker is hiding his lab, he must be fairly confident that we won’t find it,” responds Bruce.

“Well, he’s an idiot then,” says Dick. He presses his fingers to his earpiece. “Oracle, do you copy?”

There’s a brief moment of static, and then Barbara’s voice comes in.

“Yeah I hear you, Nightwing,” Barbara answers. “Did you find Robin yet?”

“He’s here with us right now,” replies Nightwing. “His comm was taken away by Harley, though. Can you make sure it stays offline? We don’t want anyone listening in.”

“Of course,” Barbara says. The relief in her voice is overwhelming to say the least. “Say hi to Robin for me, okay?”

“Oracle says hi,” says Nightwing. Tim grins happily at that, and Nightwing smiles back for a brief second before turning to survey the surrounding greenery. “Hey, Oracle, we’re in Arkham’s Botanical Gardens. Joker’s lab is hidden here somewhere, and we’re assuming he’s using an old one that had already been built. Do you have any outdated layouts of the gardens that might show rooms branching off? If they’ve been abandoned, they might have been removed from more current maps.”

“I’ve got one pulled up right now,” Barbara says. “Hm. It looks like there is one room that doesn’t show up on newer maps. It’s off of the northwestern wall of the gardens. I don’t see anything about getting into it though, so if there’s a concealed door or something, you guys might have to figure that out on your own.”

“That won’t be a problem,” says Bruce. “Thanks, Oracle.”

As Barbara cuts out, the four of them hurry over to the northwestern side of the expansive room. The wall they stop in front of is also made up of massive sheets of rock; however, the bottom strip of it is layered in square pieces of metal, which look as though they might be part of the heating and cooling system for the gardens. As they approach, Bruce pulls out his scanner and begins moving it up and down along the wall, searching for any inconsistencies in the thickness of the rock that might reveal where a room may be hidden.

Jason tilts his head to the side, eyeing the ventilation gates lining the bottom of the wall. Crouching down in front of them, his gaze is caught by a small blinking light from the third one down on his right. He cocks an eyebrow and then reaches out, tearing the piece of metal away and tossing it to the floor.

Placed inside the now revealed ventilation shaft is a small control box, which is hooked into the wall behind it.

“This looks important,” Jason says nonchalantly, gesturing with a wave of his hand. He glances up at Bruce, who kneels beside him.

As Bruce leans in closer to get a look at the control box, Jason moves aside so as to let Bruce work. Bruce pulls out an electronic device used to unscramble and break codes, but then, to Jason’s surprise, holds it out in his direction. Jason stares at the device for a second, then, his movements hesitant, he takes it and plugs it into the control box.

Immediately the device lights up, bringing up the coded data. A few seconds pass, with Jason in deep concentration as he works at breaking the security code. Finally, the control box’s screen flickers to green, and a smile spreads across Jason’s face.

“Open sesame,” he says, pressing the _enter_ button on the box.

To the left of them erupts a low rumbling sound. A section of the rock wall moves inwards about a foot, and begins sliding up, revealing an opening the rough size of an average doorway.

Jason and Bruce stand, both pulling out Batarangs. Glancing nervously at Tim’s lack of a utility belt, Dick moves closer to the younger boy as he takes out his Escrima sticks, then hands Tim an extra Batarang. Together, the four of them cautiously walk through the doorway.

Before them is a short bridge, stretching over what looks to be part of the sewage system. The rushing water is dozens of yards down though, much too far for anyone to get a good look at what is down there. At the far end of the bridge waits a set of metal doors. Motion sensors are set in place, and upon recognizing the new bodies crossing over the bridge, the doors slide apart, revealing a small lab.

Computer equipment and shelves filled with various items line the right wall of the room; on the left are numerous glass cylinders at least eight feet in height, which are all connected together by thick tubes. At the opposite end of the lab is a large freight elevator, which is stocked full of crates tied with extravagant, green bows.

Standing amongst the crates is the Joker, who is flanked by two guards.

A wild grin stretches across Joker’s face as he catches sight of the four newcomers. “I’m impressed, Bats! I didn’t think you’d find us so fast!” Laughing, the Joker smacks one of the buttons on the elevator’s control panel; immediately, the metal gates sealing off the elevator clang shut. Letting out a furious snarl, Jason runs forward, followed closely by Batman. But the elevator has already begun its ascent, disappearing into the darkness above. “Sorry to leave so abruptly!” calls down the Joker. “But don’t fret, we’ll meet up soon enough!”

Suddenly, something drops through the gated floor of the elevator, spinning through the air as it falls towards the bottom of the elevator shaft.

Batman’s eyes widen as he watches the grenade plummet directly to where Jason is still running. “Knight!” he shouts. Jason has already skidded to a stop, but he seems momentarily frozen as the grenade hits the cement floor in front of him.

Batman reaches Jason just before the explosion goes off. Somehow, he’s able to wrap his cape around the both of them, and together they’re thrown backwards by the blast, crashing into a crate filled with empty glass jars. Despite the mess the collision makes, the shattering of the jars is all but lost in the sound of the elevator walls crumbling in on themselves, raining down in a seemingly endless cascade of rock and dirt.

“Batman! Knight!” yells Dick, rushing over to their limp forms. With Tim helping as best he can with his good hand, the two of them pull Bruce and Jason further away from the wreckage and clear of the glass shards.

Bruce shifts as Dick moves him, and soon he’s swatting away the prodding hands and pushing himself up groggily. Letting out a low moan, but rubs a hand across his forehead, and then snaps his head up, looking about him anxiously. “Jason? Where… _Jason?”_

“He’s okay,” Tim says in relief.

Bruce spins around to see Tim gently pulling off Jason’s Gotham Knight helmet. Jason’s eyes flicker open as the cool air brushes against his skin, and he draws in a sharp breath, glancing about him.

“What the fu…” he murmurs.

“You ran into a grenade, you idiot,” says Tim.

“Is that all?” asks Jason faintly. His eyes momentarily lose focus, but then he gives his head a shake, blinking hard to clear his vision. Sloppily, he raises one of his hands and holds up two fingers. “That’s two grenades we didn’t get killed by in…what? The past hour? Go us.”

“I swear, I’m gonna have a heart attack before this night is done,” Dick mutters, pressing a hand to his face. “I have never dealt with so much stress before.”

“Oh shut up, old timer,” croaks Jason, allowing a lopsided smirk to slip onto his face.

Bruce lets out an exasperated breath and shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly. Looking vaguely amused, Jason gives a soft cough, then places his hands against the floor in an attempt to sit up.

“Hold on, Jason,” Bruce says. He kneels down, reaching out to stop the boy from moving any further. “Just rest a second.”

Jason shoots Bruce an irritated glance. “M’fine, Bruce.” Slowly, he begins to shift into a sitting position, and Bruce curls a hand around Jason’s back, giving him support. A groan escapes Jason’s lips as he rolls his shoulders back, stretching. “Fuck. Well, I guess that wasn’t the smartest thing to do.”

“No,” says Bruce. Reaching out with his free hand, he brushes back Jason’s hair, studying his son’s face for any further injuries. Then he pulls away and stands. “No it wasn’t. Dammit, Jay, don’t do that again.”

“Sorry. Next time, I’ll be sure to politely ask the bastard if he has any grenades before I start chasing him.”

Dick rolls his eyes. “Smartass.” He holds out his hand, which Jason takes to help pull himself to his feet.

Turning around, Bruce examines the lab with a calculating gaze. “It looks like Joker left most of his equipment here. Seems he wasn’t quite ready for us to drop in on him yet.” He walks over to one of the computers in the room and turns on the monitor, narrowing his eyes as he searches for any useful documents or files left behind.

“Check out the floor,” Tim says, pointing to their feet. The others look down, raising their eyebrows with amazement at the sight.

They had been too busy with the Joker and the explosion to really notice it before, but half of the floor is made of glass. There are about six wide strips of the translucent surface, through which can be seen small rooms holding dozens of strange-looking plants. The rooms are obviously temperature monitored, and it looks as though there’s a watering system built in as well.

“What are they?” asks Dick, crouching down to get a better look.

Tim rubs his hand across his chin, thinking. “I bet they’re similar to the plants used to make Venom.”

“They’re a hybrid of them,” Bruce says, gesturing to the data files he’s pulled up on the computer. “It looks as though this is what Dr. Young and Joker used to create the Titan strain. The plant’s the key.”

“I’m guessing we can’t use these same plants to make an antidote, huh?” says Jason.

Bruce shakes his head. “No, these wouldn’t work. We need a different plant for that.”

“Any idea which one?” Tim asks.

Bruce hesitates, reluctant to answer in his uncertainty.

“Plants, huh?” muses Dick. “Well, I can think of one person on this island who might be able to help us with that.”

Jason snorts. “And what makes you think Poison Ivy will help?”

“If her plants are at risk, she’ll listen,” says Bruce.

Jason and Dick exchange glances, and then Jason gives a shrug. “Okay, sure. I’d _love_ to hear what she has to say about all of this.”

/

As is to be expected, Poison Ivy’s cell is designed specifically for her. Located in the Green Mile section of the Penitentiary, it is made up of thick glass walls, is air-tight, and lined with thin vents for air filtration. There is a simple cot in the corner of the small room, but little else for furniture. The air itself inside of the cell is slightly foggy, presumably from Ivy’s pheromones that the Arkham doctors have yet to figure out how to control.

Poison Ivy herself is standing in the center of her cell when they arrive, staring at the door they come through with a knowing attitude, as though she had been expecting them. Even when dressed in Arkham’s dreary inmate uniform, she somehow still manages to come off looking exotic and dangerously beautiful.

“Mm,” she hums, watching them approach her cell with a smug expression. “I was wondering when you’d show up, Dark Knight.” Her eyes run over the three boys standing by Batman’s side, and a smile touches her lips. “Though I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting you to bring so much…company.”

“I don’t have time for games, Ivy,” Batman growls. “I need your help.”

“Help?” Ivy gives a soft laugh. “My, that _is_ an interesting request to hear coming from you.” She taps a finger against her mouth, studying Batman. “I’m tempted to turn you away right this moment. But…I am in dire need of entertainment, and this sounds awfully compelling.” She lowers her hand and draws to her full height. “Alright, I’ll listen to what you have to say, Batman. _But_ , only if you talk to me face-to-face. I won’t be disrespected by being cajoled to through a glass wall.”

“No,” Nightwing says sharply. “No one is going inside your cell, Ivy.”

Ivy smirks as she glances at Nightwing. “Always so hot-headed, your little partners.” She spreads her hands in an innocent gesture. “It’s your choice, Batman.”

Batman frowns. “Stay here, you three.”

“Batman –” begins Robin.

“Do as I say, Robin.” Taking out his respirator from his utility belt, Batman begins to pull it over his face.

“Now, now, Batman,” chides Ivy. “Don’t insult me like that. I may not play along with you otherwise.”

“You have your conditions, I have mine,” Batman replies. He secures the mask in place, and then walks over to the control panel in front of Ivy’s cell. Nightwing follows him, and watches as Batman slides the Arkham security card along the side of the control panel. The light blinks green on the screen, and the door to the cell opens with a low hiss of pressurized air being released. Without a word, Batman presses the card into Nightwing’s waiting hand and then enters the enclosure; the moment he steps inside, Nightwing shuts and relocks the door. The Gotham Knight and Robin step up to either side of Nightwing, focusing their attention on the two figures inside the cell.

“So,” Ivy says. She flips a lock of her crimson hair over her shoulder, stepping closer to Batman. “What’s this about, Batman?”

“You know what I’m here for, Ivy,” responds Batman. “You must have felt it.”

“You mean the suffering of my children?” Ivy grits her teeth. “Yes, I’ve felt it. As though it were happening to my own flesh.”

“Those plants, they’ve been used in experiments conducted by a Dr. Young to create a new kind of Venom.”

“Yes,” sneers Ivy. “I am well aware.” Then she lets out a vicious laugh. “And I heard it through the grapevine that the evil woman paid the price.”

Tim stiffens beside Dick, his good hand clenching into a fist. Keeping his movements hidden behind the control panel, Dick reaches out to steady the boy.

Batman’s stony demeanor doesn’t falter for an instant. “I need you to help me create an antidote.”

“Oh, do you?” Ivy reaches out, laying a hand on Batman’s shoulder. “And why should I? Let Joker have his fun.” She begins to circle Batman, pausing just behind the shoulder she still grasps and leaning in so that her lips are just a hair's breadth away from his ear. “I’ll enjoy watching you squirm.”

A snarl emanates from Batman as he wrenches away from Ivy, spinning to face her. “You’ve been in the dark too long,” he hisses. “Every plant on this island will get the same as those Dr. Young used, unless you cooperate.” Then he shoves his hand into a pouch on his utility belt, drawing out a shriveled piece of vine, to which the end of clings a single leaf.

Ivy’s eyes widen as they stare at the withered plant, and she snatches her hand out, grabbing it with surprising care. A deep mournfulness sinks into her expression as she bows her head, gazing at the plant.

“My poor baby,” she murmurs. “Oh, what have they done to you?”

“This is one of the plants that was in Dr. Young’s lab,” Batman explains. “It’s only a small sample of what has been done, and what Joker will continue to do, unless you help me.”

A single tear seeps from Ivy’s eye, trickling down her cheek and then falling through the air; it lands with a silent splash in the palm of her hand. Slowly, the drop moves down the curve of her palm until it reaches the plant, which it then soaks into. A moment passes, and then Ivy lifts her gaze.

“There’s a plant,” she says. “Growing deep in Arkham Island. Only it can counter the effects of this Titan strain.”

“Where do I find it?” asks Batman.

“In Killer Croc’s lair.” Bitter amusement flashes in Ivy’s eyes. “You didn’t think it would be easy, did you?”

Batman doesn’t answer. He begins to turn away, but Ivy’s voice makes him pause.

“Is it not amazing, what nature is capable of?” she asks. Frowning, Batman looks back at her. Ivy’s hand is still raised, but the plant Batman had given her is sitting up in her palm, looking much greener than it had before.

Ivy smiles at the look on Batman’s face. “You humans try and try to staunch her growth and dilute her beauty. But nature is a patient, powerful force; that is a fact I am only too happy to remind you pathetic creatures of.” The plant is growing incredibly fast now. It wraps around her hand, curling up her arm and over her shoulders.

“Batman!” shouts Nightwing. “Get to the door, _now!”_

Suddenly, Ivy throws her hand in Batman’s direction. The vine soars across the cell, wrapping itself around Batman’s neck and yanking him harshly in Ivy’s direction.

A sinister laugh burst from Ivy’s lips as she twists her hand, prompting more vines to sprout and encircle Batman’s arms.

“Not good, not good,” Nightwing mutters. Desperately, he swipes aside numerous pages on the control panel’s screen in an attempt to find something of use, as he knows simply opening the cell doors would be a disaster.

“ _Move!”_ exclaims Robin. Shoving both Nightwing and the Gotham Knight aside, Robin begins typing furiously on the touchscreen keyboard, his movements impressively fast despite only being able to use one hand.

Sparing at glance at the frantic boys on the other side of the glass, Ivy smirks as she refocuses her gaze onto Batman. “Why don’t we relieve you of that ugly mask? It looks terribly uncomfortable.” One of the thinner vines reaches up and prods a leaf beneath the edge of Batman’s respirator. It gives a tug, lifting the breathing mask just a hair.

Suddenly, the vents built into the cell’s ceiling open wide, and a blue gas seeps into the room, quickly filling the space. Ivy rapidly recoils, gasping as she staggers back. As she does, the vines holding Batman begin to loosen, and he rips his arms upwards, breaking their holds.

Ivy screams as the vines snap, pain flashing across her face as she watches them fall to the floor of the cell. Fury sparks in her eyes as she looks up at Batman, but all she can do is let out a low moan before collapsing. Batman lunges forward, managing to catch Ivy just before she hits the ground; carefully, he carries her to the cell’s cot and lays her on it.

The door to the cell opens, and Batman turns to see Nightwing and the Gotham Knight rush inside, the older of the two wearing his own respirator. Robin, who is without his necessary equipment, is forced to stay outside.

“Are you okay?” asks the Knight.

“Yes,” says Batman. He glances down at the floor, where pieces of the now dead vine lay scattered. “Though I don’t think we should leave this in here.”

Nightwing and the Knight nod, and the three of them gather up the destroyed plants, bringing them outside of the cell and dumping them in the nearest trash incinerator they find. Robin stays to relock Ivy’s cell, and by the time they return, he is leaning against the secured cell door with a fairly satisfied expression on his face.

“She won’t be going anywhere,” he assures them.

“Nicely done with the sedation gas, Robin,” says Batman. “I had assumed that a backup security measure of some kind would have been put in place.”

Robin shrugs, though he looks pleased at the praise. “I would say I’d be surprised if there hadn’t been something like that, but…this _is_ Arkham we’re talking about.”

A snort bursts from the Gotham Knight.

“So where is dear old Killer Croc being kept anyway?” asks Nightwing.

Batman pulls up Arkham’s inmate files on his gauntlet’s screen, flipping through them for a bit before opening those on Killer Croc. “Hm. It looks like Croc is in a special cell below the Transfer Room back at Intensive Treatment.”

The Gotham Knight gestures to the holographic Arkham map hovering above his own gauntlet. “You mean this cell? Because it seems to be part of an old sewer system. Gee, Arkham really does pull out all the stops when it comes to treating their ‘patients,’ huh?”

“It’s on the highest level of lockdown,” continues Batman, ignoring Jason’s last comment. “You can’t get in without the Warden’s codes.”

Nightwing smiles. “I bet you anything Oracle could get those codes.”

Batman turns off the screen on his gauntlet and straightens. “We need to move fast. If Oracle can get the codes by the time we reach Intensive Treatment, we should be fine.”

“Oh please, Batman,” cuts in Oracle’s voice through their comms. “When have I ever let you guys down?”


	17. Chapter 17

“Lovely,” says Dick, surveying their surroundings with a disgusted grimace.

They had just finished descending an abandoned elevator shaft to get to the sewage system beneath the Transfer Room. The smell of the place is awful, to say the least. Mud and grime cover the brick walls, and drops of water leak through the ceiling, slowly splattering down to the numerous puddles spread out across the slimy floor. The place is incredibly dim, lit only by a few old lights hanging from the walls every couple yards.

“Isn’t there supposed to be a, you know, _cell_ for Killer Croc to be in?” frowns Jason, glancing about them in confusion.

“Yeah,” Tim replies, pointing. “There _was._ ”

Jason, Dick, and Bruce turn to where Tim is gesturing. Built halfway into the far wall is what looks to have been a cage of some sorts. It’s hard to tell now, as the majority of its front has been ripped apart. Metal pieces of what had once been cell bars lie about the floor, long covered over in grime and mud.

“Oh good,” says Dick. “For a moment, I was worried this was going to be a boring trip to the sewers.”

Surprisingly, Bruce doesn’t seem all that concerned about the missing inmate. He holds up his scanner, pressing various buttons on it in concentration. Finally, he looks up. “I’ve tuned the scanner to detect any above-water plant life within fifty yards. It should lead us to the spores required to make the anti-Venom.”

“Okay fine, but what about Croc?” asks Dick.

Jason grins. “I’ve got an idea.”

/

Ten minutes later, the four of them are moving along the sewer passageways, with Bruce holding the scanner in the lead.

“There are some spores about twelve yards ahead, around the upcoming right corner,” he says.

“I can see why this is no longer part of the current sewer system,” Jason mutters. He glances down at the rotting floor beneath them, nervously eyeing the boards sloppily nailed down in a poor attempt at repairs. “Are we sure these platforms will hold? Because I’d prefer to avoid being dunked in sewage water if I can help it.”

“They’ll hold,” assures Bruce, leading them around the passageway corner. “But they’ll also send soundwaves through the water, giving away our position to Croc. So we need to move as carefully and quietly as possible.”

Tim snorts. “Quiet isn’t exactly one of Jason’s strong suits.”

Jason shoots Tim a glare. “Tim, I swear, I’ll push you into that disgusting water myself.”

“Jackpot!” exclaims Dick.

Tim and Jason raise their heads at the outburst, their eye widening at the odd sight.

Hanging from the ceiling are multiple plant roots, all at least a foot in diameter. They interweave together, creating something that looks rather like a hammock above them. The roots are a brownish red, and they seem to glow ever so slightly in the passageway’s light. Clinging to them are multiple green plant spores about the size of basketballs.

“There’s gotta be at least thirty of them up there,” says Tim in excitement.

Bruce, Dick, and Jason all pull out Batarangs, aiming at various spores. They let the weapons fly, and three of the plants begin plummeting towards the wooden platform. Diving forward, they manage to each catch a spore before the plants hit the floor.

Tim crouches down between Jason and Dick as the spores are set on the platform. Eyeing the one before Jason with curiosity, Tim grabs a Batarang from Jason’s utility belt and begins cutting open the plant tissue.

“Do you mind?” says Jason irritably.

“Not really.” Tim’s eyebrows raise in fascination as he pulls back the outer layer of the spore, revealing a neon green, gel-like substance instead. “Neat,” he says. “I wonder why it glows though.”

Jason shrugs, pulling out two clear vials from his utility belt. “It could be from a radiation leak of some kind,” he says. Snatching the Batarang back from Tim, Jason uses it to scoop out chunks of the spore, which he then dumps into the vials. “Or maybe it’s something they do naturally.”

Bruce tucks away his own filled vials, and then glances over and Dick and Jason’s. “That should be more than enough,” he says. “Let’s go.”

Dick and Jason seal off their vials and secure them in their belts, and together the four of them start heading back towards the elevator shaft.

For a few minutes, it’s fairly quiet. But as they round the corner of the passageway, one of the wooden boards beneath Jason’s foot shifts. Jason glances down, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. “Hey, guys…”

Suddenly, there’s the distinct sound of water slapping up against cement sides of the sewer. Loose floorboards bang together behind them as a soft splashing grows closer.

“Here we go,” mutters Dick.

“Move!” Bruce shouts.

They immediately burst into a run. The moment they do, the wooden boards behind them explode upwards in a tremendous crash, and a massive figure launches itself into the air, landing on the platform.

Killer Croc lets out a furious roar as he rushes forward, smashing wood beneath his feet and sending water flying everywhere as he chases the four down the passageway. The planks groan beneath the increased weight, threatening to crack and plunge them all into the watery depths below.

Bruce, Dick, Jason, and Tim race along, using what little light is available to step on the more solid boards as they try to put distance between them and the creature pursuing them. Gradually, the sound of rushing water ahead reaches their ears. “Almost there!” Jason exclaims. He squints into the dimness, trying to pinpoint the platform he’s searching for.

Croc is getting closer. Only a few more feet, and he’ll be within range to take one of them out.

“NOW!” shouts Jason. Immediately, he and Dick shoot their grappling hooks at the ceiling, soaring into the air. Bruce lunges forward and wraps an arm around Tim’s waist; Tim grabs ahold of Batman’s shoulder armor with his good hand as the grappling hook is shot, and together the two of them zip upwards.

Surprised by the sudden movement, Croc clumsily tries to skid to a stop. But he loses his balance and slides over the slippery boards onto an especially rickety-looking platform, crashing onto his side.

Bruce presses the detonator button on his gel device, and the platform Croc is on explodes, throwing the creature into the air, only for him to fall back into the water with a giant splash.

Water goes everywhere as Croc struggles to get back to the surface. But a sudden current wraps around him, and he’s tugged towards the edge of a drop-off in the sewage river the platforms had been covering up. Desperately, he claws at the broken pieces of wood surrounding him, but it’s too late. With a strangled roar, he tumbles over the drop-off, disappearing into the depths of the sewers below.

“ _Ha!”_ Jason cries triumphantly. “Told you it’d work!”

Tim smirks. “Well, now that Jason’s ego has been properly fed, can we go?” he asks. “I’m gonna throw up if I have to keep smelling that sewer water for much longer.”

Bruce shakes his head, adjusting his grip on the grappling hook. “We’ll head back to the lab in the gardens. It should have everything we need to make the antidote.”

/

“How’s it going?”

Tim glances up at Jason, who had just come back in from patrolling the Botanical Gardens for the fourth time. Shrugging, Tim rests his elbow on the computer desk he’s sitting at, propping his chin up in his hand. “We’re close. But it’s been more difficult than we had expected.”

“The process is slow,” Bruce says, not looking up from the lab table he’s bent over. “And it takes a large amount of spores to produce even just a small dose of the antidote.”

“If you guys need help with it, Dick and I can –”

“There’s not much for you to do,” says Bruce. He lifts a vial containing an emerald green liquid, holding it up to the lab’s lights to get a better look at its contents. “How are the gardens?”

“Quiet. As they have been ever since Dick and I took out those five guards over an hour ago.” Jason leans in closer to the computer Tim is working at, skimming over the data on the screen. “Dick went to check on Harley and her buddy down in the storage facilities.”

Bruce finally lifts his gaze to Jason, and a frown crosses his face. “You should have gone with him.”

“His comm is on right now,” Jason says. “I can hear everything – don’t worry.”

“I don’t care. You should have –”

The doors to the lab open once again, and Dick walks in casually. “Well, Harley’s being as annoying as ever, but she’s still where we left her, so that’s somewhat comforting.”

“See?” Jason says, waving at Dick.

“What?” asks Dick. Jason shakes his head, and Dick shrugs, looking over at Bruce. “How are you two doing with the antidote?”

“We’re almost there,” answers Bruce. “The chemical should be able to reverse the effects of the Titan transformation.”

“ _Should?”_ repeats Jason.

Bruce lets out a sigh, gesturing in frustration at the vial he had set down. “We have some samples of it made, but I’d like to run a few more tests just to be sure. Unfortunately, there aren’t a lot of the spores left for us to –”

Static bursts from the television monitor hooked into the wall overhead, and all four of them snap their heads up to watch as the screen flickers to life.

“ _Hello_ Batman!” exclaims the Joker, waving vigorously. “I do hope I’m not interrupting anything. Now, I know it’s been a long, hard night for you, but good news! The party’s about to start! And we’ve got something for everyone.” The Joker skips off-screen momentarily, but a second later he’s back, pushing a hospital stretcher into the camera frame. The stretcher is tilted upwards, and strapped to it is a terrified-looking Arkham security guard. Securely bound and gagged, all the man can do is watch as the Joker spins the stretcher in a circle, laughing loudly.

“We’ve got music, dancing, chemicals that create monsters!” says the Joker. “You don’t want to miss it, Bats – and neither do your little sidekicks. I want to see _all_ of them here.”

Grinning, the Joker pulls out a gun from his jacket. “Now, I know that you can be a shy one, Bats, so here’s a little motivation for you to get your brooding tush over here.” The barrel of the gun is pressed against the forehead of the guard. “Every five minutes you aren’t here, I’m gonna blast away one of the poor, innocent security guards or doctors we’ve been entertaining for the past few hours.” The Joker looks down at the trembling man strapped to the stretcher. “How’s that sound?” The man’s eyes grow wide, and Joker’s smile widens. Then he pulls the trigger.

The gunshot rings loudly through the TV’s speakers, instantly followed by the soft splattering of blood across the camera’s lens.

Jason and Dick both flinch harshly, and Tim can’t help the small gasp that escapes him.

The Joker leans against the body of the security guard, laughing hysterically as he casually tosses the gun to the floor. “Hurry up, Bats! You don’t wanna miss a single thing!”

The screen cuts to black, leaving everyone to stare in silence.

“So,” Dick says quietly. “I guess this means time’s up for making the antidote.”

Bruce’s mouth dips into a frown. “Tim, download the data we have onto your memory card.” He spins back to the lab table he had been working at and picks up three vials of green liquid. “These are the only samples I have of the antidote right now,” he says. He holds two of them out in Dick and Jason’s direction. “You each take one, I’ll keep the third.”

Jason and Dick reach out, taking the vials and slipping them into their utility belts. Bruce snatches up an empty syringe nearby and quickly transfers the antidote from his vial into it. His hand hovers over his belt for a moment, but then he crouches down and slides the syringe into a small compartment hidden on the inside of his boot. He straightens and gives Dick, Jason, and Tim a grim look. “Let’s go.”

/

Never having been one for subtlety, Joker makes it easy for them to know where to go. Upon stepping outside of the gardens, they immediately catch sight of a small fireworks display going off in the distance. A few of them are regular fireworks, but others explode into giant arrow shapes, which point down at Arkham’s Visitor Center.

No one tries to stop them. In fact, Arkham’s grounds seem oddly deserted as they cross them, a fact which only increases their unease as they approach the Visitor Center.

There’s a long outside corridor leading to the front doors of the Visitor Center. Lining either side of it are two rows of eight men each, all dressed in clown paint. Batman, Nightwing, the Gotham Knight, and Robin all immediately draw out their weapons upon seeing the men, but then they pause in confusion as the men burst into applause, shouting and whooping praise.

“What the hell?” the Gotham Knight mutters. He glances at Nightwing, who frowns in suspicion.

At the end of the hall is a large banner strung over the double entrance doors to the Visitor Center. WELCOME TO THE PARTY is painted on it in bright green paint; beneath the banner stands a clown-faced man, who watches them with crossed arms.

Clenching his jaw, Batman begins walking down the hall, looking only straight ahead as he passes between the lines of Joker men. Nightwing and the Gotham Knight glance at each other nervously, but they follow Batman, being sure to walk with Robin in-between them.

The yelling and cheering only grows in volume as they make their way to the double doors. Finally, the four of them come to a stop, staring at the man blocking the entrance expectantly.

“Well?” growls Batman.

The man smirks. “Welcome to the party.”

Suddenly, the four clown-faced men closest to the double doors draw out dart guns, aiming at each of the vigilantes. With surprisingly speed and accuracy, they fire the guns, hitting their targets before any of them have a chance to even fully turn around.

One of the darts flies into the side of Jason’s neck, imbedding itself into the small bit of skin showing between the bottom of his helmet and the collar of his jacket. Jason might have been impressed by the marksmanship, if he hadn’t been the one to get hit by it. He lets out a small grunt as a spark of pain shoots through him; reaching up, he tears the dart free. But the damage has already been done, and he feels a dizzying coldness spread throughout him as he staggers forward.

The sedative is fast; already Jason’s vision is blurring. “Robin…” he slurs, reaching towards the dark figure he assumes is his brother.

“Knight?”

The voice is distant, muffled. Jason gasps, straining to draw in choked breaths. He hears something that sounds vaguely like a heavy body hitting the ground, followed by a second thud. Then his legs are giving out, and he crumples to his knees.

His vision is almost completely black now. He thinks he may have fallen on his side, but everything feels so fuzzy…it’s hard to tell.

There’s the sound of faint laughter.

And then silence.

/

Jason wakes up with a low groan, curling in on his side and clutching his head. He can’t recall the last time he had a headache this bad before.

What the hell happened? He blinks hard, trying to remember how he had gotten to…wherever he is.

Then the memory of what occurred outside of the Visitor Center comes back to him, and he jerks upwards into a sitting position. “Batman?” he calls out, trying not to sound as frantic as he feels.

Frowning, he glances about him. He’s in an empty, dark room; there’s no furniture, no windows – nothing. Just him.

“Shit,” he mutters. How could they have been so stupid? They knew it was a trap going in, but to walk into something _that_ obvious? Jason lets out a frustrated breath, running his hands through his hair. He freezes, then drops a hand to his face, running it down his cheek.

His Gotham Knight helmet is gone.

He struggles to control the panic threatening to surge up within him at the realization. Without his helmet, or a domino mask of any kind, the sudden vulnerability he feels is overwhelming. Who had taken his helmet off? Who has seen him since?

Jason glances down, and isn’t surprised to see that his utility belt has been removed as well. He’s also missing his jacket, and unfortunately the plain t-shirt he wears beneath it isn’t doing a very good job of keeping out the room’s chill. Jason sighs, rubbing a hand across his forehead and desperately wishing he had a pain-reliever pill from his utility belt right now.

“Oh good! You’re awake.”

Startled, Jason spins around at the voice, trying to pinpoint where it had come from.

The Joker laughs, his voice somewhat crackling as it filters through the speakers. “My, you’re quite jittery tonight, Jason! Is something bothering you?”

“Where the hell are they, Joker?” Jason says savagely.

Joker lets out a chuckle. “They’re being taken care of, don’t you worry, my dear Robin. _You_ , however, have a special surprise waiting. Several, actually.”

“I don’t feel like playing your damn games, Joker,” snaps Jason. “Where are they?”

“Patience is a virtue you never excelled at, Jason,” tuts the Joker. “Maybe you’ll learn some by the end of the night. Now, why don’t you pick yourself up off that filthy floor, and go see what festivities I’ve got made up in your honor. It’s either that, or sit in this room and rot while I disembowel your little family.”

Gritting his teeth, Jason stands, turning to face the double doors to the room as they slowly swing inwards. Hanging from the outer doorframe are giant letters made up of flashing lightbulbs, spelling out two words suspended in the air:

JOKER’S FUNHOUSE

Behind the words is a purple stage curtain, which completely obscures whatever lies beyond it from Jason’s view. Carnival music seeps into the room, making the hairs stand up on the back of Jason’s neck as he approaches the doorway. Swallowing, he stretches out his hand, wrapping shaking fingers around the edge of the soft material.

Jason pauses, closing his eyes for a moment. Then he sets his jaw, determination coursing through him.

He takes a deep breath, and rips aside the curtain.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I want to give a big shout-out to the wonderful Evie Warner, who talked with me about the upcoming chapters and helped me brainstorm some ideas for where to take the climax of the story (such as Joker’s Funhouse). Thank you so much!!
> 
> Alright everyone, strap in. These are gonna be a rough few chapters for poor Jason.
> 
> WARNING: Graphic violence, heavy cursing, child abuse, alcohol/drugs, and just…a lot of psychologically shitty stuff.

 

He’s in a large room. Another curtain hangs from the opposite end of where he stands now, nearly covering the entire width of the far wall. Any furniture that had been in the room has been cleared away, and instead the walls and floor have been covered over with various carnival-themed decorations. Streamers hang from the ceiling, confetti litters the floor, and the words “Ha! Ha!” have been spray-painted everywhere. Little plastic wind-up teeth have been placed on the floor, where they bounce and rattle across the tiles.

Wooden cut-outs of clowns standing in goofy positions are set up around the room, all brightly painted. They’re similar to the kinds one would see at a carnival or state fair, except something is off about these ones. The expressions on the faces…their smiles are too wide, their eyes too bright. It unnerves Jason, and he quickly moves to the center of the room, where he’s farthest away from them all. The carnival music increases in volume, and the doors Jason had come through slam shut behind him. At the same moment, the curtain at the far end of the wall divides down the middle, sliding open so that Jason can see what’s behind it.

A glass wall had been put up, and behind it is a small stage. On the stage are two plain chairs, and securely bound to each of them is a man and a woman. The man is dressed in an Arkham inmate uniform, and the woman in a pair of doctor scrubs. Giant green ribbons have been wrapped around them, with the obnoxiously large bows situated so that they’re on the front of their chests. Polka dotted gags have been stuffed into their mouths, muffling their hysterical cries beyond understanding.

Standing between the two of them is the Joker. He’s facing the glass, and holding a purple and green tranquilizer gun in his hand. As the curtains move to the side, Joker spreads his arms wide and gives a theatrical bow.

“Good evening, freaks and maniacs!” he cries out gleefully. He bounces back up, grinning as he swings the hand holding the gun out in an arc towards the two people behind him. “We’ve got quite a show tonight. Games, laughs, the whole shebang! We even have a special guest of honor – the most forgettable of Batman’s little soldiers, Jason Todd!”

Jason feels like he’s going to be sick. He glances about him, searching desperately for any kind of escape. But the only entrance he sees is the one he had just come through, which should be impossible, as there are no other doors to either of the rooms.

The Joker laughs. “Let’s get ready for the first act!” Walking up to the glass wall, Joker taps it roughly with his gun. Jason jumps and whips his head back to stare at the Joker, who wags a finger. “Jason, my boy, pay attention! We don’t want anyone to lose their heads simply because you weren’t listening to the rules.”

Chuckling to himself, Joker saunters back over to his hostages. “I was lucky enough to have two wonderful volunteers for this first performance.” He moves behind the man wearing the inmate uniform and playfully pokes the back of the man’s head with his gun. The man flinches, sweat dripping down his face as he strains to see what the Joker is doing behind him. “This man is one of mine. He’s got quite the record – armed robbery, murder, rape, but who’s really keeping count these days?” The Joker taps his fingers against his chin in an exaggerated show of thinking. “I _believe_ he had also participated in Harley’s little party at that children’s center. He was then shipped off to Blackgate, when _wouldn’t you know it_ , a fire got him uprooted and sent to Arkham. What are the chances of that?”

Despite his unease, Jason can’t deny the surge of rage swelling in him as he stares at the inmate. Joker studies Jason’s face, and a soft smile spreads across his lips as he continues. “On the other hand,” he says, strolling over to the woman. The woman strains against her bounds, desperate to get away as the Joker reaches out and gently pats the top of her head. “Dr. Emma Lowe is quite the upstanding citizen. Pays her taxes on time, works at charity shelters once a month, even adopted two stray puppies from one of Gotham’s pounds – before I blew it up the following week, of course. She’s very dedicated to her work, and has helped numerous patients here at Arkham. I actually had a few sessions with her myself, a lovey woman.”

Tears stream down Dr. Lowe’s cheeks, and she closes her eyes, turning her head away. The Joker grins, waving the gun in front of her. “What do you think of my little toy, doctor? I had it specially made. Don’t you fret though – it’s just a tranquilizer gun. I did tweak it a bit though; now it’s stuffed full of my Titan formula. Unfortunately, this isn’t the newest version I’ve got stocked up nearby. This one is much older, and sadly, those who test it out don’t live very long.” Giving the gun a twirl, the Joker gently lays the weapon in Dr. Lowe’s lap. “If you would be so kind, I’d appreciate it if you could hold onto it for me.”

Dr. Lowe goes into a frenzy, trying to throw the object off of her, but she’s simply tied too tightly to do so. Ignoring her, Joker goes back to the middle of the stage so that he’s in-between the two hostages once again.

“Now Jason,” he says, re-focusing his attention on the boy. “Harley and I have been keeping a watchful eye on you, and we couldn’t be prouder of who you’re becoming. Your dedication to stopping those dreadful criminals on Gotham’s streets is just… _inspiring.”_

“You’re no better than any of that scum out there,” Jason snarls. “Just far more annoying, and far less funny.”

The Joker chuckles. “It seems I wasn’t quite able to beat that attitude out of you. I don’t mind though – it only makes this all the more entertaining.” He claps his hands. “Shall we begin?”

Jason doesn’t answer. Joker just smiles, and then he plucks a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket. “I have here a little present from a mutual friend of ours. Well, he probably doesn’t think of you as warmly as I do, but that’s beside the point. The game we’re going to play is simple; all you need to do is give the correct answer to this riddle. Do that, and I’ll let one of our guests walk out of here. Answer incorrectly, or refuse to participate, and I’ll shoot both of them.”

Joker makes a dramatic show of unfolding the paper, and then he holds it out, clearing his throat loudly. “I have a heart that never beats, I have a home but I never sleep. I can take a man’s house and build another’s, I love to play games with my many brothers. I am a king among fools. _Who am I?”_

For a moment, Jason just glares at the Joker. Smirking, the Joker lazily drops the paper and pulls out an old-fashioned chain watch. “You have thirty-six seconds.”

Jason’s mouth drops open in shock at the impossible time limit he’s been given.

“Thirty-four seconds.”

Raising his hands, Jason presses his fingers to his temples as he desperately thinks. _A heart that never beats…a home but I never sleep._ He grinds his teeth together, unable to concentrate when all he can hear are the smothered shouts of the two hostages.

One of which he wouldn’t give a damn about if Joker killed.

Jason shakes his head. He has to focus.

_Take a man’s house…many brothers…_

The chattering of the plastic teeth on the ground sounds louder than it had been when he first walked in. The carnival music continues to play, though it seems to become more distorted as the seconds tick by…

“Fuck,” Jason grinds out. “ _Fuck._ I don’t know…I don’t know…” His eyes flicker up to Dr. Lowe, who stares back at him with wide, pleading eyes.

“Twenty-two seconds, Jason…”

“I don’t know,” says Jason, growing frantic. “ _I don’t know!_ Stop! Please, stop!”

“Nineteen seconds…”

Jason snaps his head to the right and left, looking about him for something, _anything_ that might give him a clue. Suddenly he pauses, staring at the clown cut-out nearest to him.

The clown is holding a deck of cards and making a bridge with them, with a few of the cards flying through the air. Jason squints, studying the painted cards.

_A king among fools…_

One of the cards has a king on it.

“Six seconds…”

_I have a heart that never beats, I have a home but I never sleep…_

A deck of cards…a house of cards…

“It’s a card,” breathes Jason. He spins back to face Joker. “It’s a card!” he shouts. “The King of Hearts – _it’s the King of Hearts!”_

 The Joker grins, lowering his hand and putting the watch away. “Well done, kiddo!” he exclaims. “And with only one second to spare… _whew_ , talk about cutting it close.”

“Now let her go,” Jason says anxiously. “I won, so let her go.”

The Joker laughs. “My dear boy, I never said _you_ got to choose who lives. That’s _my_ decision.” Joker walks over to Dr. Lowe, who is weeping behind her gag. “Thank you,” the Joker says to her, picking up the gun. He studies the weapon thoughtfully. “Hm.” Then he whips the gun around and shoots a Titan-filled dart into the inmate’s chest.

A gasp of both surprise and relief escapes Jason as he watches the man jerk violently against the ropes holding him down. Jason turns his eyes back to the Joker, and a sinister smile spreads across Joker’s lips – then he shoots Dr. Lowe in the chest as well.

“NO!” screams Jason. He throws himself forward, pounding furiously on the glass as the doctor strains against her bounds, squeezing her eyes shut in pain. “ _No!_ One of them was supposed to live! Those were the rules!”

The Joker cackles, spinning the gun around his finger. “Rules? Life is hardly worth living if one does so by adhering to _rules_ , Jason.” He casually walks behind Dr. Lowe’s chair and bends down, pulling up a hidden trapdoor. “I’ll let you watch the show, and then you can catch up later.” Giving a mock salute, Joker descends into the stage, pulling the trapdoor shut after him.

Both the inmate and the doctor continue to struggle, groans of agony emanating from behind their gags as their bodies twist and their muscles bulge beneath their skin.

“No! _”_ Jason cries out, repeatedly striking his fist against the glass. “You have to fight it, doctor! _Fight it!”_

It doesn’t look like Dr. Lowe can even hear Jason anymore. With a horrible moan, she rips her arm upwards, tearing the ropes free from her body. At the same moment, the inmate does the same, and he falls from his chair, landing on the ground on all fours and gnashing his teeth. There’s a loud cracking sound, and Jason winces as vertebra bones rip through the skin and clothes of both of the victims’ backs, spouting blood and prompting roars of pain to be torn from both of them.

Clothing is torn and hair falls from their scalps as both the man and woman mutate, their bodies twisting beyond recognition. The man snaps his head up, and his bloodshot eyes focus on Jason. Before Jason can react, the inmate rushes forward on all fours, and then slams his head into the glass wall. Jason wrenches away, falling to the ground and crawling backwards as he watches in horror.

The inmate once again slams his head into the glass, and this time, a long crack appears, running up the wall. The man draws back, ready to crash into the wall once more. Then he suddenly freezes, choking. His eyes widen, and then he’s grasping anxiously at his chest, trying to draw in air. A few horrible seconds pass, and then he collapses to the stage, falling limp. A moment later, Dr. Lowe does the same.

Jason sits there for a long minute, staring in shock. Then he blinks hard, letting out a shaky gasp.

He needs to find a way out of here. Staggering to his feet, Jason looks about him in panic, trying to keep his breathing under control as he searches for an exit. But he already knows there’s only one way out of here.

Going over to the clown cut-out with the deck of cards, Jason takes a hold of it and slams his foot down on the center of the wood. There’s a sharp splintering, and a second kick is all it takes to snap the board in half. Dropping the top part, Jason takes the bottom half of the clown and goes back over to where the inmate had cracked the glass.

He lifts the board, positioning it directly over the center of the crack. Then he thrusts the wood forward, smashing it into the wall. The glass cracks again, but it doesn’t break. Jason repeats the action, over and over again, until finally, with a cry of frustration, he kicks his boot at the center of the damaged glass.

There’s an earsplitting crash as the wall shatters around Jason, and he ducks away, covering his head with his arms as shards rain down upon him. Once the glass has settled, Jason tosses the board to the side and begins walking over the mess, his steps crunching loudly as he goes up onto the stage.

Jason is careful to not look at the bodies as he moves over to the trap door, but his chest tightens nonetheless, and as he bends down to pull up the panel of wood he realizes that he’s holding his breath. Only when he closes the door over his head does he release it.

Beneath the trapdoor is a ladder, which descends into a narrow hallway. Jason keeps his senses alert as he makes his way through the dimness, but he can’t seem to brush the nagging feeling that he’s not alone in the corridor. Going along carefully, he keeps his hand against the wall to guide him as he walks.

He rounds a corner, and then recoils at the sudden stench he’s hit by.

It smells like decay. Like the body of something that hasn’t been touched in years, and has long been left to rot in its filth.

Gagging, Jason brings his other hand up to his nose, trying to draw in a little breath as possible. He pauses for a moment to steady himself, then continues on. Gradually, he becomes aware that the wall he’s trailing his fingers along has become oddly moist, and rather sticky to the touch. Jason pulls his hand away, staring at the slime coming off with it in disgust. He hurriedly wipes his hand on his pants and backs away from the wall, picking up his pace.

There’s a sudden noise. Jason stops, straining to listen.

There. It’s soft, but there’s no mistaking it. It’s a woman, moaning – as though in pain, or in deep sorrow.

“Hello?” Jason calls out. He rushes forward, his eyes darting about for any sign of an exit. “Who’s there?”

Finally, he sees it. Up ahead on the left is an open doorway, from which a grayish glow emanates. Jason runs over to it, relief swelling in him at finding an end to the corridor.

That feeling immediately dissipates as he stops, staring at the room he’s now standing in.

It’s a kitchen. Jason’s jaw droops open as he gazes about in disbelief. He’s in his parents’ apartment – the one they lived in just off of Crime Alley. Everything is just how he remembers it. The paint peeling from the walls, the cracked floor tiles, the sink that was always full of dirty dishes…even the trashcan in the corner overflowing with empty beer cans.

“What…” Jason steps further into the kitchen, dumbstruck. Not paying attention to where he’s walking, his foot accidently kicks a beer bottle that had been lying on its side. It immediately rolls, the glass tinkering as it goes over the uneven floor…until it bumps into a bare foot.

Jason rushes around the kitchen counter, and the color drains from his face as he stares at the person sitting on the floor and leaning against the counter wall.

“Mom?” he whispers. He hurries to the woman’s side and kneels down, reaching out with a trembling hand to carefully brush back the curtain of strawberry blonde hair obscuring her face.

Catherine Todd doesn’t acknowledge her son. She simply stares at the floor, her eyes half closed and her lips parted in her dazed state. Her breathing is barely audible, and there’s a faint wheeze to it, a sound Jason had become accustomed to after watching his mother smoke countless packs of cigarettes.

“Mom, can you hear me?” asks Jason. He brushes a hand against her clammy cheek, then glances down at her lap, where her hands are resting.

Her right hand is facing upwards; lying in it is an empty syringe. Jason feels his chest tighten at the familiar sight, and he looks back up into his mother’s face. “Mom, I need you to say something.” He pauses, swallowing as tears well in his eyes. “Come on, mom.” His voice breaks on the last word.

“I’ll never understand why I had to get fucked over by having such a pussy for a son.”

Jason jerks his head up, sucking in his breath at the sight of the man looming over him.

“Not only is your mother a useless bitch who’s barely good for a fuck now,” Willis Todd growls, kicking at Catherine’s limp leg. “But all _you_ do is sit around, doing nothing but being a fucking waste of space.” Willis takes a final gulp from the beer bottle in his hand, then drunkenly chucks it at Jason’s head.

Jason immediately ducks, and the bottle shatters as it hits the wall behind him. Scrambling back, Jason’s breathing quickens as Willis advances on him.

“I couldn’t _give_ you away as a fucking infant,” Willis slurs. “No one wanted you then, and no one wants you now.” He stoops down, bunching Jason’s shirt in his fist as he yanks the boy close. “I should’ve smashed your head in the moment your mother gave birth to you.” Jason flinches, cringing at the stench of alcohol on his father’s breath. “I guess it’s never too late to start.” Willis swings his fist around, punching Jason in the jaw and sending him crashing to the floor.

“Please…” begs Jason, holding out his hand. All those years training with Bruce, all that time spent fighting as Robin – it’s completely forgotten as Jason stares up into his father’s furious face. Suddenly, he’s twelve years old again, and all he knows is that if he takes the beating without fighting back, maybe the man will leave his mother alone.

“Why would anyone want _you?”_ demands Willis, emphasizing the last word with a kick. “You’re a pathetic piece of shit, and I can’t wait until the day one of the psychos in this godforsaken city does me a favor and shoots you in the head. Are you listening, _boy?”_

Jason backs into the corner of the kitchen, tears streaking down his bruised face as he tries to make himself as little as possible.

Willis grabs another empty beer bottle off of the kitchen counter and throws it. Jason instinctively rolls out of the way, pressing himself against the wall as Willis reaches for a coffee mug. “I am your _father!”_ Willis bellows, hurling the mug. “And your _father_ deserves respect!”

At that, Jason tilts his head up, giving Willis a strange look. The expression on Jason’s face makes Willis pause, and he falters as he reaches for another bottle.

“You are not my father,” Jason quietly says.

“What did you say?” snarls Willis. He takes a step forward, but Jason swings his leg out, knocking the man onto his back. The next second, Jason is on top of Willis, and he delivers a hard punch to the man’s face.

“You are _not_ my father,” Jason repeats viciously. “My father’s name is Bruce Wayne, and you will never be the man he is.”

Jason’s hands close around Willis’ throat, and he begins to squeeze. Willis gasps, clawing at Jason’s arms, but Jason doesn’t let up. “You could spend a hundred years trying to become _half_ of what he is, and you would fail,” hisses Jason. He continues to constrict his hands. “I am not your son. And I’m done letting you call yourself my father.”

Willis’ face is taking on a faint purple tint now.

 _Kill him. He deserves it. Kill him for everything he’s done._ The thoughts ravage Jason’s mind, strengthening his rage.

He has to. He has to kill this man – this _monster_. Before he can hurt Jason or his mother ever again. Once he’s dead, Jason can finally –

Jason freezes. Willis Todd is already dead. He was shot on the orders of Carmine Falcone, for failing to pay back a long overdue debt.

His mother is dead too. Catherine Todd died of a drug overdose, years ago.

They’re both dead.

Jason loosens his grip on the man beneath him. Willis gasps for air, bringing his hands up to massage his throat. As he does, his face begins to change. Jason stares in horrified fascination as Willis Todd’s face morphs into a man he doesn’t even recognize.

All around them, the kitchen melts away, and Jason finds himself kneeling in a dark storage room. The man before Jason is shuddering, still trying to draw in breath, and Jason falls back against a stack of crates as he stares down at his hands.

Toxin. Scarecrow’s fear toxin. _Of course._ The effects of it seem so obvious now, even as they linger in Jason’s body.

“Oh come now, Jason, you were so close,” the Joker says in disappointment.

Jason looks about wildly, then finally catches sight of the speaker overhead, which Joker’s voice is echoing through.

“Even if he’s not your old man, he still deserves it. Another convict, guilty of numerous crimes. Murder, rape…just like that other man I so generously shot up with reject-Titan less than an hour ago.”

Jason’s gaze drops back to the man, who is watching Jason in fear.

“Finish the job, Boy Wonder. He’s just another Willis Todd, a monster that other innocent kids are going to have to answer to sooner or later.”

Jason clenches his jaw, glaring at the thug cowering before him. He shifts, readying to throw himself at the man once again, when he notices something in the corner of his eye. He turns his head, and then almost completely forgets everything else.

There’s a woman slumped against the wall. She’s in the same position as Catherine Todd had been, and waves of red-gold hair fall in front of her face. Jason’s breathing quickens, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he stumbles over to her.

His hands quiver as he gently pulls back her hair. Then he gasps, lurching back.

Her throat has been slit open, nearly from ear to ear. Blood sticks to the front of her shirt, having been concealed by her hair only moments before. Jason needs only a quick glance to see that she’s been dead for a while.

She’s not Catherine Todd.

Even so, Jason feels tears spring to his eyes as he stares at her. He begins to reach for her once again, but sudden footsteps attract his attention, and he spins around to see the man he had nearly killed running out of the room.

He can’t stay here. Casting a final, sorrowful glance back at the woman, Jason gets up and hurries after the man through the room’s doorway.

The man is nowhere in sight. Jason glances back over his shoulder, and stares in confusion. The door he had just come through is no longer there; it’s just a plain wall.

“What the hell…” he murmurs.

The corridor speakers crackle to life. Then a familiar tune begins to play, just as distorted as it was when Joker played it at Gotham High’s baseball field.

_Take me out to the ball game…take me out with the crowd…_

Jason’s breath catches in his throat, and he begins to run down the hallway.

_I don’t care if I never get back. Let me root, root, root, for the home team. If they don’t win it’s a shame…_

He’s shaking his head frantically, trying to block out the images from the night Joker had taken him a second time.

He hears his own voice, screaming in agony. Then there’s the all-too-familiar laughter.

_What do we have here then?_

No.

Anything but that. Any memory but that.

_Do you think I’m going to hurt you?_

“Please,” Jason whimpers, tripping over his own feet and clinging to the wall for support. “Please stop.”

He hears footsteps behind him, and he whirls around, only to see no one there.

 _I’m not the bad one here…oh no, no, no. It’s_ Batman _._

He shakes his head, pushing off of the wall. The floor is sticky, making it hard for him to walk through the red liquid covering it. But he doesn’t stop, afraid of what will happen if he does.

_He’s abandoned you…thrown you away like an unwanted puppy._

A sob bursts from Jason’s lips.                                                         

_It’s a miracle he even decided to show up at all. Do you think he’ll bother a second time?_

Shadows are dancing on the walls. Their shapes are indiscernible as they flicker in and out, like dark figures dancing before a flame.

_Would you have done it to save me?_

There it is again. That damn question.

Bruce’s voice sounds far too old for someone his age when it speaks next.

_I…I don’t know._

Jason finally sinks to his knees, pressing his face into his hands as he weeps. Suddenly, the floor falls away beneath him, and he’s then tumbling through darkness.

Down he goes. On and on through the murky endlessness, with nothing but his nightmares to catch him.

_Can I have him, daddy?_

_Anything to make you happy, princess. Just make sure people know he’s yours._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I did a little changing with Jason’s parents. Willis and Catherine Todd are both Jason’s biological parents in Arkham Knight Genesis, and they are both SUPER shitty people. Catherine is just as bad as Willis in it, and I just couldn’t bring myself to do that to Jason. So here, Jason’s got his Arkham Knight dad (who yes, did try to sell newborn Jason to Falcone to pay off his debts), but he’s got his normal comics mom. I felt it was better to give Jason that tragic motherly figure, and not just ANOTHER abusive parent.
> 
> (extra side note: I got the riddle off of this riddles website, so I can’t take credit for it)


	19. Chapter 19

Laughter echoes all around Jason as he tumbles through the blackness. Down, down, down he goes until he smacks against a metal wall, and then he tumbling through some kind of ventilation shaft. He continues to roll, banging against the walls repeatedly until he finally falls through the vent’s mouth, slamming into the floor below with a hard thud.

Too disoriented to control his body’s movement, Jason ends up landing directly on his artificial hip bone as he falls to the ground. Pain immediately explodes from it as Jason’s weight smashes it into the cement, and he cannot help the cry ripped from him.

For what seems like a long while, all Jason can do is lay in a crumpled heap below the vent, trembling with pain and leftover shock from the fear toxin. Gradually though, he becomes aware of the sounds of chains rattling. Slowly, Jason lifts his head, and his eyes grow wide at the sight before him.

They’re all there – Bruce, Dick, and Tim. Each of them, gagged and chained to three separate rings in the wall behind them, their arms wrenched up over their heads. Bruce looks beyond furious, as does Dick. Tim though, is barely moving. His face has taken on a deathly pallor, showcasing the pain his broken wrist clearly is causing him.

At first, Jason is certain this is just another hallucination, and he lets out an exhausted sob, unable to take anymore. But then he catches Batman’s – _Bruce’s_ – gaze.

The emotions in his father’s eyes – that is something Crane’s toxin could never recreate. Rage, at what has been done to his sons. Terror, for his children’s safety. But there’s something else there, something that brings Jason the calmness he desperately needs; it’s a soft reassurance – a _promise_ – that everything is going to be alright.

“B-Bruce…” Jason chokes out. He begins to pull himself up, but then freezes, staring at the rotting piece of furniture laying in the center of the room.

It’s the chair. Broken and on its side, and in the exact position Jason and Dick had left it in when they had gotten out of the room in the abandoned wing of Arkham. Jason’s breathing escalates as he pushes himself to his knees, staring at the floor surrounding the chair.

The bloodstains are exactly the same. _His_ bloodstains. Whipping his head up, he sees the same medical table laden with rusty surgical tools pushed against the right wall.

It can’t be the same room. It _can’t_ be. There was no ventilation shaft leading into it, especially one of the massive size he had just fallen through. Jason spins around, blinking in confusion. Behind him is a large wall made entirely of thick, bulletproof glass. On the other side of it, and propped up by a stand, is an old-fashioned movie camera.

Fear courses through him as he turns back to Bruce, Dick, and Tim; before he can even begin moving over to them, the door to the room opens, and the Joker walks in.

Then Jason forgets that the others are even there. The room is too similar, the familiar pain in his right hip is burning, and he’s staring up at the approaching figure in the same way he had while pleading for mercy for so many months. Panic seizes hold of him, and he scrambles backwards, frantic to get as far away from the clown as possible.

Joker’s grin widens as he watches the terrified boy. “Aw, come now, Jason! I’m insulted. Is this any way to treat an old friend?”

Jason opens his mouth to speak, but fear has stolen his voice from him. Joker chuckles, strolling casually over to Jason. Unable to do anything but watch, Bruce and Dick yank even harder at the chains holding them, but their efforts do little to free them.

Joker crouches down in front of Jason. He reaches out, and then threads his fingers through Jason’s hair in a way not unlike how Bruce would while comforting Jason after a nightmare. Jason recoils from the touch, but he can’t bring himself to smack Joker’s hand away. Being in this room, regardless of whether or not it’s a recreation, combined with everything that’s happened over the course of the past twenty-four hours…it’s all he can do to keep his composure at the moment.

“You know, kiddo, I had a whole different thing planned out for Batsy and Bird Brain número tres,” says the Joker. “But then _you_ showed up in the middle of this whole Titan fiasco, and I just couldn’t help myself – I knew I had to finish my work on you. And yet, after everything, all I feel when I look at you is disappointment.” His grip tightens in Jason’s hair, making the boy wince. But Jason refuses to lift his gaze. “I really thought you had something special in you. After all those months we spent together…” Joker frowns, then gives Jason’s hair a harsh yank, forcing the boy to look up at him. “Come now, Jason. I know it’s been a while since our last lesson, but I assure you the rules on manners have not changed. I expect you to look at me when I’m talking to you.” His face twists into something that is an unnerving mix between a smile and a sneer. “Do you understand?”

Jason’s breathing has not calmed in slightest. But as he looks up into the Joker’s face, a spark of anger manages to blaze through his terror. “Go to hell,” he hisses.

Joker stares at Jason for a long second. Then he shoves Jason to the ground, releasing the boy as he stands. “What will it take to break that enticing spirit of yours?” he mutters. He swings his foot out, slamming it directly into Jason’s hip. Jason grunts and jerks away, curling up on his side as fresh pain shoots through his body.

Dick is shouting something furiously through his gag, but it’s impossible to discern the muffled words. Bruce is far less frantic-looking than Dick, but the fire burning in his eyes is just as venomous.

“Oh! I’ve got something to show you.” Joker pulls out the tranquilizer gun he had used earlier and glances down at Jason. “While you were taking a trip down memory lane, courtesy of Dr. Crane, I was making a few modifications to this baby.” He taps his finger against the gun’s barrel. “Took out all that old Titan, and replaced it with the newest version I’ve got, hot off the shelves!” Joker gives the gun a little twirl. “However, before I go full-scale with this, I need to test it, make sure that it actually works.”

Jason tries to sit up, but Joker trains the gun on him, making him freeze. “Not yet, boy,” he chuckles. “Back to my problem here; I finally decided, why not make a game out of it?” He gestures to Bruce, Dick, and Tim. “I even let them keep their utility belts, so as to make it as close to the real deal as possible.” A smile stretches across his face. “Here’s how this is going to work. There’s only one dart in this gun at the moment, and _you_ are going to decide which of the three bozos over there gets the dose. Then, you and the remaining ‘heroes’ are going to have a little smack-down with whoever gets shot-up, and we’re going to see just how well this new formula holds up in a real fight.”

“No fucking way,” Jason snarls.

Joker cocks an eyebrow in amusement. “If you don’t want to play, that’s perfectly fine. I’ll just have my boys shoot holes in all three of their heads, and we’ll be done.” Joker casts a glance over his shoulder, and Jason follows his gaze.

Standing behind the glass wall now are three clown-faced men. All are holding shotguns, the barrels of which have been set into holes drilled into the glass wall. Each of the holes directly line up with Bruce, Dick, and Tim’s heads.

Jason’s breath catches in his throat as he stares at the armed men. He twists back to where Joker had been standing, only to see the clown walking over to the door he had entered through.

“It’s your choice, Jason,” the Joker says. He tosses the gun, and it clatters to the floor, sliding along until it hits Jason’s knees. Laughter bursts from the Joker, and he slams the door to the room shut, locking it securely.

Jason shoves the gun away from him and pulls himself to his feet, ignoring the sharp pain in his hip as he does so. Once he’s upright, he begins to stagger in Bruce’s direction. Suddenly, a loud shot goes off, echoing throughout the small room at an almost deafening volume.

Jason instinctively ducks, covering his head with his arms. But then he’s glancing up in panic, trying to see where the bullet had gone.

A strangled gasp of relief bursts from him. No one had been shot – but the fresh bullet hole in the wall above Bruce’s head isn’t exactly comforting.

“That’s not how the game is played, Jason!”

Jason spins around to see Joker standing behind him, on the other side of the bulletproof glass wall. He’s got one hand resting on the movie camera, and the other waving a finger at Jason disapprovingly. “Come now, Jay-Jay!” he says. “It’s time to choose! Pick up the gun before the next shot blows off one of their delicate little heads.”

Shaking with combined rage and fear, Jason walks over to the gun and stoops, picking it up.

“So, _Knight_ , who will it be?”

Jason swallows, turning away from the Joker to face his family. Bruce, Dick, and Tim are all watching him, unable to do anything while securely bond. Struggling to keep his breathing under control, Jason looks down at the gun in his hand.

“Which one, which one?” the Joker singsongs. “The man who abandoned you for nine months? The original Robin you could never live up to? Or the one who replaced you? The one Batman believes is a _better_ Robin, an improvement over the pathetic excuse for a warrior you are. Doesn’t he deserve to be put in his place?”

Jason’s grip on the gun tightens. Slowly, he lifts his eyes to the three figures in front of him. His chest aches as he looks at his brothers, and his gaze lingers upon them for a long moment before turning to Bruce’s.

There it is again. That steady reassurance.

Reassurance. That’s something Jason never had prior to Wayne Manor; before then, his life had been full of uncertainties and unanswered questions. It was only when Bruce took him in that he finally found peace. Bruce, Dick, and Tim – they are his reassurance that no matter what, he has a place to call home.

“Time is running out, junior. Pick one, before my boys get trigger-happy!”

He has no intention of hurting any of them; he would die before bringing them harm. He glances down at the gun in his hand, and in a swift motion, brings it up and presses the barrel against his forearm.

Bruce immediately jerks against the chains, shouting something through his gag.

Jason pulls the trigger.

The impact of the dart going into his flesh is surprisingly strong, causing him to stumble to the side a few steps. Pain immediately spreads outwards from the wound, and an odd sensation courses through his veins, overtaking his body with a dizzying intensity. Jason rips the dart free, tossing it aside in an almost drunken movement. Then he collapses to his knees, swaying as he struggles to hold himself upright.

Bruce, Dick, and Tim are all desperately trying to break free, looking absolutely frantic as they watch Jason. Joker though, is clinging to the camera to steady himself as he laughs hysterically.

“My, what a fun turn of events _this_ is!” he cackles. “Bravo, Jason!”

A horrible throbbing seizes hold of Jason’s left arm and he clutches it tightly, letting out a pained grunt. His hand violently spazzes, and his arm muscles begin to bulge outwards.

The Joker’s eyes widen in excitement as he watches Jason’s arm pulsate, and he adjusts the camera so that it zooms in on the boy. “I’d say you’ve got less than sixty seconds, Bats,” he says gleefully. “Then your boy won’t even recognize you before he starts tearing you apart.”

Jason’s body is shaking too much for him to even consider walking. Instead, he begins crawling on his hands and knees towards Bruce, groaning at the effort as his muscles ripple beneath his skin, mutating grotesquely. Somehow, he manages to get to Bruce’s side, but as he reaches upwards, a horrible cracking sound rattles down his spine.

Jason cries out, clutching the chains binding Bruce and squeezing his eyes shut as his vertebra bones twist and pop. Gasping for breath, Jason tightens his grip on the chains. He gives a hard yank, and the ring holding the chains to the wall moves slightly, cracking the wall around it. Another jolt runs down Jason’s arms, white hot and brimming with Titan-induced strength. Gritting his teeth, Jason once more wrenches at the chains, and – with a cascade of plaster and the dust – the ring tears away from the wall.

The ring doesn’t even hit the floor before Bruce drops his arms and shoves his hand into his utility belt. He yanks out his explosive gel device and immediately shoots a glob at the glass wall, where the three gunmen are. Before any of them have time to react, Bruce detonates the gel and the entire wall shatters in a brilliant explosion. The three men and Joker are thrown backwards into the wall behind them, all going limp as they strike the ground.

Bruce rips the gag from his mouth. “ _Jason!”_

Unable to answer, Jason just shakes his head as he claws at the cement beneath his mutating hands. Terror seizes hold of Bruce as he bends down and pulls out the syringe hidden inside of his boot, along with a hypodermic needle from his belt. Hurriedly connecting the two, he lunges forward and grabs onto Jason, jabbing the needle into the boy’s arm and emptying the syringe’s contents.

Jason jerks harshly, letting out an agonized moan as the antidote enters him. Reaching out, Bruce wraps his arms around Jason, restraining the boy’s movements so as to prevent him from harming himself any further. Jason is choking, struggling to draw in air as his body fights to regain control of itself. He’s shivering uncontrollably, and sweat drips from what seems to be every pore of his skin. Through it all, Bruce doesn’t loosen his grip, continuing to hold Jason through the convulsions as he murmurs reassurances into his son’s ear.

Then…Jason’s muscles begin to relax. His bones stop cracking, and Bruce feels Jason’s body begin to still beneath his hands. Hope surges in Bruce as he glances down. “Jason?”

Jason, whose body looks as normal as ever, lies limp in Bruce’s arms, sucking in wheezing breathes. Wearily, he lifts his gaze. “Br – Batman?” he whispers.

“I’m here, Jason,” Bruce says, almost unable to speak in his emotion. “You’re okay. I’ve got you. _I’ve got you._ ” Bruce places a hand on the back of Jason’s head, cradling the boy against his chest. Tears leak from Jason’s eyes, and, using every ounce of strength he can muster, he reaches up and clutches Bruce’s wrist.

Rocking back on his heels, Bruce looks up to see Dick and Tim still bound, staring at them with wide eyes. Bruce shifts, glancing back down at Jason. “Jason, I’ve got to get your brothers.”

Momentary panic flashes through Jason as Bruce begins to pull away, but then his eyes flicker over to Dick and he nods dimly, allowing Bruce to carefully lay him on the floor. Pulling out a small laser cutter, Bruce hurries to Dick and Tim and severs their chains.

The moment Dick is free he rushes to Jason, kneeling down and pulling the younger boy into an embrace. “ _Jason_ ,” he says, burying his face in Jason’s hair and weeping in relief. “Of all the crazy, stupid, brave things to do…”

Holding onto Bruce for support, Tim kneels down beside the two. He enwraps Jason’s arm with his good hand, pressing his forehead to Jason’s shoulder as he closes his eyes, too overcome with emotion to say anything.

“Well, isn’t that touching?”

Bruce, Dick, and Tim all jerk their heads around at the sudden voice. Jason, who looks to be on the verge of passing out, remains slumped against Dick’s chest.

The Joker stands amongst the rumble beyond the remains of the glass wall, holding a regular gun out and pointing it directly at Batman.

“I didn’t want much,” Joker sneers. “Just what was already mine.” His eyes flicker to Jason, and Dick instinctively tights his grip, snarling viciously. Joker doesn’t seem concerned in the slightest, and he turns his attention back to Bruce. “And a chance to finally bring down your grim façade, watching as you and your little _brats_ tore each other apart. Then maybe for _once_ you’d see the world the way I do, giggling in a corner and bleeding. But you’ve denied me even that!” He gives a breathy laugh. “Well, fine. If that’s how you want it, we’ll play the game your way.”

Joker turns suddenly, aiming his gun at a section of the ceiling where the top of the glass wall had been. Attached to the overhead plaster are large purple jugs with smiles painted on them, their hiding place now unveiled due to the gel explosion. Whether they contain Joker Venom, Titan, or something worse, one thing is certain – the amount there is more than enough to kill everyone in the room.

Joker’s arm doesn’t even finish its full swing upward before Batman is moving. Impossibly fast, Batman rips a Batarang from his utility belt and sends it flying at the Joker. The gun is knocked from Joker’s hand, and before Joker can even register what had happened, Batman is on top of him, pinning him to the floor.

“I told you, months ago,” hisses Batman. “That if you touched my son again, I would make it so you would never live a single day without feeling pain coursing throughout your miserable body.” Batman’s fists curl into Joker’s suit, bunching up the fabric tightly. “I intend to make good on that promise.”

The Joker grins up at Batman. “That’s the kind of talk I like to hear, Bats.”

With a savage growl, Batman slams a fist into Joker’s face, snapping the clown’s head back. He punches him again, and then stands, dragging the Joker up by the lapels of his jacket. Joker gives Batman a bloody smile, and Batman snarls, throwing him into the still-rolling camera. The stand snaps, and both the camera and Joker go crashing to the ground.

“We need to stop him,” Tim says, his voice quiet in his haze of pain. “He could kill him.”

Dick opens his mouth to answer, but then looks down in alarm as Jason begins shifting into an upwards position. “Jason, what are you doing?”

“M’fine, Dick,” Jason mumbles. Moving to his hands and knees, Jason tilts his head up, focusing his gaze on Joker and Batman.

Batman bends down, grabbing the Joker by his collar and delivering another punch to his face. All the while, the Joker is loudly laughing.

“Normally…I would stay,” wheezes out the Joker. “But –” Batman kicks him in the stomach, sending him flying onto his back. “I _do_ have…plans for all that Titan formula.” Then Joker throws himself forward, wrapping his arms around Batman’s waist and causing both of them to tumble to the ground. At the same moment, Joker reaches out, snatching up the discarded Batarang used by Batman to hit the gun away.

With a sudden burst of energy, Jason pushes off of the floor and runs at Joker and Batman. Ignoring Dick and Tim’s cries, Jason flings himself forward, sliding along the tiles and swiping up the gun that Joker had been holding.

Not noticing Jason, Joker laughs, raising the Batarang above Batman’s throat. At the same moment, Batman swings out his fist.

Dick jumps to his feet, rushing across the room.

Tightening his grip on the gun, Jason rolls over and aims at Joker. He blinks, trying to clear his blurry vision.

“ _No!”_ shouts Dick.

Jason fires the gun.

Joker’s laughter is cut off as the bullet slams into him, knocking him off of Batman and onto his back. Batman immediately gets up and moves to Joker’s side, looking down at the clown lying amongst the shards of glass.

The Joker chuckles softly. “Was wondering…when he’d…finally snap…”

Batman grits his teeth, gazing down at the Joker with nothing but pure hatred in his eyes. His gaze falls to the bullet wound in Joker’s left shoulder, from which blood oozes out of. Seconds pass, and Batman just stands there, staring at the madman responsible for so much pain and death. Then, his hands shaking, he tears off a part of his cape and kneels, wadding the cloth up before pressing it against Joker’s shoulder.

“Knew…you cared…Batsy…”

“I’m not doing this for you,” hisses Batman. “I’m doing this for my son. I won’t let him watch me sink down to your level.”

“Too bad,” coughs the Joker. “Such a waste. I could’ve truly made him into something great. Just needed…more time…”

Batman shoves his hand harder against the wound, causing Joker to wince before grinning only all the more widely.

“Stay away from my boys,” Batman snarls. “Or I will not be nearly as merciful next time.”

Joker just laughs weakly. Sneering at the clown in disgust, Batman pulls out a sedative and injects it into the Joker. Within seconds he’s unconscious.

“Are you sure you should have given him that?” Dick asks.

Bruce twists around to see Dick crouching beside Jason, who is sitting back on his heels and still holding the gun. The weapon is pointed at the floor now, and Jason’s hand loosely holding it rests against his knee. Dick has his own hand covering the one Jason is holding the gun with, and his other is pressed against Jason’s back, steadying the boy.

The haunted, almost distant look in Jason’s wide eyes as he stares at the Joker unnerves Bruce. Swallowing, he glances at Dick.

“It was a light dose,” Bruce says. Reluctant, he returns his attention to the Joker and continues dressing the wound. “The wound is not serious, and I’ll keep monitoring him. I just…” He gives a sigh so quiet Dick almost doesn’t hear it. “We’ve had enough for one night.”

The gun finally falls to the floor with a soft clatter. Dick looks at Jason, who just stares at the ground in front of him with an unsettling hollowness.

“Jason?” Dick asks worriedly. “Jay?”

Jason doesn’t answer. He remains silent, even after Dick wraps his arms around him, and Tim makes his way over to their side.

Bruce keeps his focus on the Joker, his hands trembling as he works. When the bandage is finally put in place, he turns away from the motionless clown, pressing his hands against the floor and bowing his head.

Despite having stopped the Joker, it hardly feels like a victory.


	20. Chapter 20

Working quickly, Bruce and Dick secure Joker’s three gunmen and take down the purple jugs from the ceiling, locking them in a hallway closet. Tim simply sits there with Jason, keeping his good hand resting on Jason’s arm, while Jason silently watches Bruce and Dick work.

Coming back in from the hall, Bruce immediately goes over to the Joker, hoisting the limp body over his shoulder. “Come on, boys,” he says, his voice heavy.

Tim glances at Jason, who avoids his gaze. Worry encompassing Dick’s face, he walks over to the two and helps them both to their feet, giving Jason’s shoulder a gentle squeeze; Jason doesn’t acknowledge the gesture or raise his head to look any of them in the eye. Grimacing, Dick glances up at Bruce, but Bruce just sighs and turns to the door.

They don’t need to go down the hallway very far to realize that they’re still in the Visitor Center. However, by the time they make it outside, they’re surprised to see hundreds of GCPD officers all over the place, hauling Arkham inmates back towards the asylum’s cell blocks.

Upon seeing the crowded grounds, Jason shrinks back into the shadows of the Visitor Center’s overhanging roof, the nervousness on his unmasked face clear. Dick and Tim immediately move in front of him, shielding him from sight.

“Batman!”

Bruce turns his head to see Commissioner Gordon hurrying up to them, disheveled and weary in his appearance.

“Are you alright, Jim?” Batman asks.

“Yes, I’m fine.” Gordon gives a quick, unconcerned wave of his hand. “As is Sharp.” He glances behind Batman for a moment, his brow creasing as his gaze falls upon the boy being hidden by Nightwing and Robin. But he doesn’t question it, and reverts his attention back to Batman. “GCPD arrived not too long ago, and they finally got us out of that damn cell block. Said they had to wait until all of Joker’s bombs were found before they could come onto the island. Of course, all of the bombs turned out to be fakes.” Gordon nods his head at the Joker. “I see you’ve got things under control with him.”

“He’s got a mild shoulder wound,” Bruce says. “He’ll need medical attention.”

Gordon scrunches up in his nose in disgust. “He doesn’t deserve it, but…” Turning, Gordon waves over some medics that had come onto the island with the GCPD. “Get him out of here,” Gordon says.

The medics nod and reluctantly take the Joker from Batman, putting him on a stretcher and then heading towards the Medical Facility.

Gordon shakes his head. “Apparently some of Joker’s men were loading a couple dozen crates onto a boat at the island’s docks when GCPD got here. They’re filled with some kind of chemical containers.”

“It’s called Titan,” says Batman. “It’s an enhanced form of Venom; Joker was making it at a lab in the Botanical Gardens. Make sure your men retrieve every sample.” Batman gestures to the boys behind him. “We were able to make an antidote though.” He looks at Nightwing expectantly.

Nightwing hurriedly digs into his utility belt, and lets out a small sigh of relief as he pulls out he vial. “It’s the only sample we have left,” he says, handing it over to Gordon.

Gordon inspects the vial with interest. “I’ll make sure it gets to the right people safely,” he promises, pocketing it.

“I know you will,” Batman says.

“Thanks for all the help,” says Gordon. “But I think we can handle the rest.”

Batman hesitates. “If you need anything…”

Gordon gives a worn smile. “I know how to contact you. Thanks.”

It’s clear that Bruce would’ve liked to linger longer, to make sure that everything was truly under control, but a look back at Jason and Tim seems to change his mind, and he leads them away from the openness of the courtyard. With neither Tim or Jason having grappling hooks, they have to head back to the Batplane on foot; keeping to the shadows, they manage to get to the plane unnoticed. Soon enough they’re flying back towards Wayne Manor.

Not much is said during the ride home. Jason is quietest of all, ignoring all worried looks cast his way. By the time they pull into the Batcave, it’s nearly five in the morning. But nevertheless, both Alfred and Dr. Leslie are waiting for them.

“Where’s Barbara?” asks Dick, glancing about the cave.

“I sent Miss Barbara home,” replies Alfred. “Once you were all safely on your way back, there was no reason for her to stay at such a late hour.”

Dick nods, though he can’t help but look slightly disappointed.

“Boys, sit on the hospital beds,” instructs Dr. Leslie. Alfred comes forward and prods them all towards the med bay, keeping his hand gently pressed to Jason’s back as they walk over together. Dr. Leslie looks over at Bruce as they follow, concern in her eyes. “Are you injured?”

“No,” replies Bruce. “Just focus on them.”

Her expression grim, Dr. Leslie goes over to the cabinets lining the wall of the med bay and pulls out the necessary supplies. She tends to Tim first, wrapping his wrist in a cast and giving him an ice pack for his black eye. Dick’s burns are re-lathered in healing ointment and then covered in new bandages. As for Jason, at first he doesn’t give her very thorough answers to her questions, seemingly more content with just being left alone. But after heavy persuasion from both her and Alfred, and her insistence that the obvious limp he had come in with _is_ something needing checking, Jason finally gives in and peels off his boots and pants, allowing Dr. Leslie to inspect his hip.

“Well,” she finally says. “Luckily it’s only been bruised, and not fractured. _Severely_ bruised though, so I’d rather you keep off of your right foot as much as possible for the next few days.”

“Sure,” Jason mumbles.

Alfred hands the boys pajamas to change into, and Dr. Leslie takes a blood sample from each of them before finally moving onto Bruce. Fortunately, all he has is some dark bruising and a few deep cuts, so it doesn’t take long to tend to him. Even so, by the time they’re done, Jason has already fallen asleep, covered by a thick blanket and being watched by both Dick and Tim, who sit on the middle bed together.

Dr. Leslie folds her arms, frowning at Bruce. “I want all three boys to stay in the med bay tonight.”

Dick and Tim glance at each other, and Tim gives a small shrug, absentmindedly running a hand over his cast.

Not responding, Bruce rubs a hand across his forehead, seemingly lost in his thoughts.

Dr. Leslie's frown deepens. “Bruce, I’m serious when I say they _cannot_ go on patrol until they are fully healed. They shouldn’t have even been allowed to go out in the first place tonight. Dick’s burns haven’t even _begun_ to heal –”

“I had them wrapped up,” points out Dick.

“You shush,” Dr. Leslie says, jabbing a finger at him. Dick snaps his mouth shut obediently, looking a tad flustered. Dr. Leslie continues, her annoyance at Bruce evident. “Tim’s wrist has taken _severe_ damage due to the abuse it underwent _after_ it had already been broken. And _Jason_ ,” Dr. Leslie looks absolutely furious now. “It’s a miracle his hip wasn’t fractured, _again_. Not to mention the smoke inhalation from yesterday, the antibiotics I gave him, Crane’s toxin, Titan, the antidote…it’s _far_ too much for the body to handle in such a short timeframe. I’m shocked he stayed conscious for as long as he did. Truthfully, he should be monitored at a hospital.”

“No,” Bruce says firmly. “He’s staying here.”

“Then _you’re_ staying down here with them, for the rest of the night,” snaps Dr. Leslie. “You are going to watch them, and do _exactly_ as the instructions I leave with you say.”

Bruce frowns. “I had no intention of leaving them alone.”

“Good.” Spinning on her heel, Dr. Leslie goes over to the med bay’s counter and snatches up a piece of paper, which she all but thrusts into Bruce’s face. “These are the directions I’ve written down, along with the medication designated for each of them. Follow it exactly.” She looks over at Dick and Tim. “Dick, you are not to go on patrol for two weeks; your burns should be mostly healed by then. Tim, in six weeks we’ll check on your wrist’s progress and make a decision then. If you two try anything before then, so help me…”

The boys smile nervously. “We won’t, Dr. Leslie,” Tim assures her. “We promise.”

Dr. Leslie watches the two of them for a moment, her eyes softening in obvious affection. But she quickly sobers as she glances over at the sleeping figure in the bed next to Dick’s. “And Jason…” She hesitates, her shoulders sagging somewhat. “For now, Bruce…keep him off of patrol. I’ll check up on him later this week, and we’ll talk then.”

An uneasy expression crosses Bruce’s face as he looks at Jason.

Dr. Leslie lets out a sigh and walks up to Bruce, laying a hand on his arm. “They’ll be fine,” she says gently. “I just…don’t want to see you or the boys taking unnecessary risks.”

“We love you too, Dr. Leslie,” Dick says teasingly.

Dr. Leslie shakes her head at Dick, her lips curving upwards in amusement. Then she gives Bruce a pat before pulling away. “Alfred,” she says, walking over to the Batcave’s staircase. “Make sure they don’t do anything stupid.”

“As I always do, Dr. Leslie.”

Once Dr. Leslie is gone, Bruce sets the paper she had given him on the small table between Jason and Dick’s beds. “Alfred, get some sleep,” he says. “We’ll be fine here.”

Alfred hesitates, but then gives a small nod. “If you need anything, sir…”

“Thank you, Alfred. But just get some rest.”

As Alfred heads upstairs, Bruce pulls the computer chair over to the med bay, letting out an exhausted groan as he sinks into it.

“Bruce?” asks Dick.

“Go to sleep, you two,” says Bruce tiredly.

Exchanging a glance with Dick, Tim finally crawls off the middle bed and climbs into his own. Sleep comes to the boys soon enough, leaving Bruce to quietly watch over them in their slumber.

/

A few hours later, Bruce is dozing in his chair, his head propped up by his hand. His cowl and cape had been dropped to the floor earlier, though he had neglected to change out of the rest of his Batman suit. When the first moan reaches his ears, he twitches awake, blinking sleepily at the fuzzy outlines of the beds in front of him.

Wincing at the pain his stiff neck gives him as he sits up, Bruce frowns into the darkness, trying to place where the sudden sound had come from.

“Pl…se…”

Jason. He’s not surprised, but it bothers him all the same to hear the familiar sounds brought on by Jason’s nightmares. Grimacing, Bruce stands and groggily makes his way across the cold floor, squinting into the dimness as he approaches the bedside.

Jason’s forehead is scrunched up, his eyebrows drawn together in an expression of discomfort. Twisting beneath the sheets wrapped around his legs, Jason lets out another low groan, pressing the side of his face into the pillow.

“Jason?” Bruce says in a hushed voice.

Jason jerks suddenly, as though startled or…receiving a blow. He begins to toss restlessly, and his breathing starts to escalate, his panic evident.

Bending over, Bruce reaches out, laying a hand on Jason’s arm. The moment Bruce touches him, Jason’s eyes shoot open. Snapping his head up, Jason sucks in a sharp breath upon seeing the dark figure standing above him. A second passes, and upon recognizing who it is, he seems to calm somewhat.

Bruce sits on the edge of Jason’s bed, concern on his face as he brushes Jason’s forehead with the back of his hand. “You’re alright, Jason.”

Jason nods, his breathing evening out as he glances about the med bay. Embarrassment brings a slight redness to his cheeks, and he turns so that he’s partially facing away from Bruce.

For a moment, Bruce is unsure what to say. He’s hesitant to push, for fear of Jason’s reaction, but he can’t sit there and not speak at all. “Jason, do you…want to talk about it?” He finds he’s not certain if he’s asking about the nightmare, or about Jason’s actions at the Visitor Center.

Jason bites his lip. They simply sit for a while, with Jason staring into the darkness and Bruce resting a hand on the boy’s arm. Dick rolls over in his sleep, and the rustling of his bedsheets suddenly seems oddly loud. Besides the gentle hum of the computers, the only other sounds filling the air are the soft breathing of Tim and Dick, and the faint scuttling of bats deep within the shadows of the cave.

“I wanted to kill him.”

The whispered confession catches Bruce off-guard. When it finally registers, a chill runs down Bruce’s spine.

“I tried,” continues Jason. He doesn’t move, doesn’t turn to face Bruce. “I was aiming for his heart, but…Scarecrow’s toxin, Titan, the antidote…I couldn’t think, couldn’t focus.” Jason pauses. “I wanted so badly to kill him. I still do.”

Unease pools in Bruce’s stomach as he sits there; Jason still has not moved to look at him, as though fearful to do so.

“Bruce,” he says quietly. “Do you…regret taking me in? Do you regret making me Robin?”

The question brings both surprise and sorrow to Bruce. “No,” he says, his voice heavy with sincerity. Reaching out, Bruce lays a hand against the top of Jason’s head, stroking the boy’s hair. “No, Jason. Don’t ever think that.”

Jason shifts, wiping a hand across his eyes in a swift motion.

A sharp aching tugs at Bruce’s chest, and he moves closer, dropping his hand so that it rests on Jason’s back. “Jason, no matter what happens, you’ll always be my son. Don’t ever doubt that.”

Jason doesn’t say anything, nor does he turn to face Bruce. Not sure how to continue the conversation, Bruce lets silence fall between them. It seems like a long time before Jason finally falls back asleep; even then, the tenseness in his body does not lesson much. Too conflicted to feel very tired anymore, Bruce stays by Jason’s side for hours after.

/

“I don’t know what to do, Alfred.”

It’s late afternoon. The boys had woken a little after noon, and once they had eaten a large lunch provided by Alfred, were prompted by the butler to get some fresh air. They’re in the grounds behind Wayne Manor now, all occupied by various activities. Tim sits in a lawn chair, working on his school research paper, though his usual ferventness given to his projects seems to be lacking. Kneeling in the soft soil of the gardens, Dick pulls out overgrown weeds with an unusual quietness. Jason sits further away from the two, leaning against a tree trunk and reading a rather thick-looking book.

Bruce and Alfred stand on a balcony branching off of one of the Manor’s higher floors, watching the boys intently. A pained expression takes on Bruce’s face as he talks, and his eyes do not leave Jason. “Jason’s rage, his unruly emotions…they worry me. Now more so than ever.”

Alfred glances down at Jason sadly. “Considering all that the boy has gone through, they are not surprising to see in him.”

“But they are concerning nonetheless.” Bruce gives a sigh. “His indifference to killing is…unsettling. Nothing I’ve said has been successful in changing his mind, and I doubt it would be any different now. He tried to murder the Joker, Alfred. He _shot_ him.”

Alfred hesitates. “Though I do not agree with Master Jason’s actions, we must try to see this from his perspective. What that madman did to him, along with all the horrors he’s witnessed, prior to him meeting you, and after –”

“Are you saying that me making him Robin is a part of this?”

“Taking the boy in and giving him structure was something Master Jason desperately needed,” Alfred says carefully. “However, I do believe that being surrounded by so much constant violence is weighing too heavily on him. He cannot continue on like this, Master Bruce. He needs to heal, emotionally and mentally, and allowing him to go back to the Gotham Knight will not help accomplish that.”

“He’ll never give it up willingly,” says Bruce. “His hip will be fine in a few days, and then nothing short of me locking him up with stop him from going out there. He’s almost… _obsessed_ with getting rid of the scum poisoning Gotham’s streets, no matter how much it wears on him.”

Alfred raises an eyebrow. “Rather like his father, is he not?”

Bruce shoots a frown in Alfred’s direction. “We’re not talking about me, Alfred. This is about Jason.”

There’s a beat of silence before a sigh escapes Alfred. “Though I do not enjoy suggesting it, perhaps…it may be best for him to get away from the city in its entirety.”

His brow creasing, Bruce looks over at Alfred. “What?”

Alfred shifts, reluctant to answer. “Gotham is slowly destroying the boy – his growing ruthlessness is proof of this. Getting away from it all…perhaps it will lift some of the darkness embedded so deeply within him.”

Bruce’s hand curls over the edge of the balcony railing. “But…he needs me, Alfred.”

Stepping up to Bruce, Alfred lays a gentle hand on his shoulder. “He needs relief, and I do not believe that is something Gotham can give.”

For a long minute, Bruce does not say anything. A deep sadness settles into Bruce’s eyes as he watches Jason, and he finally draws in a low breath. “I’ll talk to him. Not today though. Not…not yet.”

“Of course, Master Bruce.” Alfred withdraws his hand. “I should go prepare supper; I’ll inform you when it’s ready.”

Bruce doesn’t reply. With a slow shake of his head, Alfred turns away and heads inside, leaving Bruce alone on the balcony. Running a hand through his hair, Bruce closes his eyes, vainly trying to think of alternative to the solution put before him.


	21. Chapter 21

Bruce can’t bring himself to talk to Jason about the matter Alfred had brought up for two more days. During that time, Dick, Jason, and Tim try to make themselves as useful as possible around the Manor. They end up pulling out unsolved case files from GCPD’s archives and begin going through them, taking over the majority of the space in the Batcave and making it fairly difficult for Bruce to do his own work. He doesn’t complain though; simply seeing the three spending the time together is enough for him. Besides, Alfred seems to frequent the Batcave more when the boys are down there, bringing an assortment of snacks for them throughout the day.

No one talks about what Jason had almost done at the Visitor Center. There’s an odd tension lingering in the air, and everyone is a bit quiet than usual. Yet none of them bring it up, to Jason’s shock. He decides to say nothing about it either, for fear of where the conversation will end up. And so the next few days pass, filled by a strange calmness that feels more like the unease one has while watching a dark storm approaching.

On the third morning following the events at Arkham, Jason takes longer than usual getting ready. Standing in his bathroom wearing nothing but a pair of jeans, he wipes at the remaining steam on the mirror leftover from his shower, gazing at his reflection with a deep solemnness.

He tries to avoid looking in the mirror as much as possible whenever he’s undressed. Though his body is well nourished, and as strong as it could possibly be considering all that’s happened to it, it will forever be a testament to Joker’s treatment. Scars mar his skin without mercy, marking his back, his chest, his arms – not one area has been left undamaged. Even after a year, the sight of his naked body still manages to bring him discomfort, which is frustrating to no end.

He’s not sure how long he stands there, letting his eyes trail over the scars; many of the long-healed wounds still have vivid memories still clinging to them, while others he may never remember how they were inflicted. He lifts his hand and, with a slowness that makes the touch almost seem like a caress, trails a finger along one of the white lines twisting around his forearm.

The sound of his bedroom door opening startles him, and he snaps his head up to see Bruce poke his head in, looking rather awkward as he glances about. “Jason?” He turns, and his gaze latches onto Jason’s. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. Can…I come in?”

“Yeah,” Jason mutters. He hurries through the open bathroom door, moving over to his bedside. “Sure.”

Bruce steps in carefully, watching with as Jason snatches his shirt off of his bed and tugs it on. Bruce’s eyes linger on Jason’s torso for a moment, grimly staring at where the now covered-up scars had been starkly visible seconds before. Then he focuses his attention back to Jason’s face, trying to sound casual as he speaks. “Um…why don’t we sit?”

“Am I in trouble?” Jason asks tentatively.

“No,” Bruce answers, pulling his usual chair over to Jason’s bedside. Jason sits on the edge of the bed so that they’re facing. “Not exactly. But I’d like to discuss something with you.”

Jason doesn’t answer. He teeters on the edge of the bed for a moment, looking vaguely uncomfortable. Equally apprehensive, Bruce folds his hands together and rests his arms on his legs, trying to figure out how best to start.

“Well,” Bruce finally says. “I’ll begin by saying that Leslie’s blood test came back in for you, and she says that there’s no lingering trace of Titan in your body. It seems that the antidote worked perfectly.”

Still not sure what to say, Jason just nods his head.

Bruce sucks in a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, Jason, we need to talk about what happened at Arkham.”

“You mean when I shot the Joker,” Jason says.

A grimace slips onto Bruce’s lips. “Yes. Jason, do you realize the seriousness of your actions? Killing Joker would have put you in prison. Or at the very least, destroyed the thin trust we share with the GCPD; we already work outside the law, and murder is something they would not be able to turn a blind eye to.”

A flicker of disturbance flashes in Jason’s eyes as the truth of this statement dawns on him. But then it’s quickly gone, replaced by a quiet determination. “It doesn’t matter,” he mutters. “If it means keeping people safe from monsters like the Joker, it’s a risk I’m willing to accept.”

“ _I’m_ not willing to accept it,” Bruce says. “You are my son, and I will not watch you destroy yourself or end up locked away in Blackgate.”

Jason frowns, crossing his arms as he glances away.

Bruce sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Jason, you know that I want to be able to trust you while you’re out there. I truly do. But I can’t, not after what almost happened at Arkham. I cannot let you continue being the Gotham Knight like this.”

Anger snaps into Jason’s eyes. “Who are _you_ to decide whether or not I can be the Gotham Knight?” he demands. “What, getting tired of babysitting me through the tracking system?”

“Jason, _listen_ to me,” Bruce says firmly. “This is not just because of Arkham. Alfred and I have talked it over, and –”

“Alfred’s agreed to this?” Hurt flickers across Jason’s face.

Bruce gives Jason an uneasy look. “Jason, please, listen. Being the Gotham Knight, being _here_ in Gotham itself…we can see that it’s wearing on you.” He pauses. “I thought that allowing you to be the Gotham Knight would help you heal from what the Joker put you through. I assumed that going back to what you had been doing as Robin would put things back to normal. But now I can see that it was a wrong decision of me to make.”

Jason shakes his head, his expression a mix of offense and disbelief.

“Gotham is…it’s not a healthy place for you to be,” Bruce continues. “There’s so much violence here, so many horrors, that it’s become almost… _toxic_ to you.”

“Just me though?” spits Jason. “Not Tim? Or Barbara?”

“They…they haven’t gone through what you have, Jason,” says Bruce carefully. “They grew up differently from you, and they –”

Jason stiffens, and his lips curl into a sneer. “Didn’t have a father that beat them on a regular basis?” he says viciously.

Bruce winces.

“Didn’t have the pleasure of being Joker’s prisoner for nine months?” Jason goes on. “No, I guess they haven’t. So what, that somehow makes them immune to Gotham? That makes them stronger than me?”

Bruce suddenly finds himself desperately wishing he had Alfred here with him to explain this better. “Jason, this is not a question of your strength. You know how amazed I am at how you’ve overcome the…obstacles in your life –”

Jason laughs harshly at that. “ _Obstacles?_ I guess you could call them that.”

“Jason, I’m trying to think of what’s best for you,” pleads Bruce. “I care for your well-being, and I think that being here in Gotham, surrounding yourself with this constant brutality as the Gotham Knight, is not healthy. It’s time to give it a break.”

“Give what a break?” says Jason heatedly. “The Gotham Knight? Or Gotham itself?”

Unwilling to answer, Bruce is quiet.

Jason pales. “Both?” he says. The fury leaves his eyes, replaced by horrified denial. “Are you…are you sending me away?”

A pained expression takes hold of Bruce’s face. “No,” he says, and the emotion there is almost enough to convince Jason that he’s telling the truth. “No, I’m not sending you anywhere, Jason. I’m simply trying to think of a solution, and I think there’s an option you should consider.”

Though Jason looks as though he wants do anything but ask, he does. “And that is?”

Bruce hesitates. “We think it may be best if you went to Blüdhaven with Dick.”

Stunned, all Jason can do is sit there, staring at Bruce with wide eyes.

It finally happened. It took longer than he had originally expected when Bruce had first brought him to the Manor as a child, but he had been stupid to think he could ever escape the inevitable. Bruce had finally had enough of him – he was throwing him out. Jason opens his mouth weakly for a moment, then glances about his room as he tries to figure out how to respond.

“But, Gotham…it’s…” Jason waves his hands in a frustrated gesture, annoyed that he’s fumbling over finding the right words.

Bruce reaches out, but Jason jerks away, staggering to his feet. The sorrow in Bruce only intensifies at the rejection, and he swallows hard, trying to keep his voice steady. “Jason, Gotham will always be your home. _Wayne Manor_ will always be your home. But, sometimes it’s good to get away. Sometimes it’s best to get out of an environment that may be…harmful to you.”

Jason breathes heavily, anger and panic battling within him as he tries to process what he’s being told. “I…” He can’t think. He can’t stand here and listen as the man he thought _cared_ for him tells him he no longer wants him.

Spinning around on his heel, Jason stalks towards the bedroom door.

“Jason –” Bruce begins brokenly.

Jason ignores him, rushing out of the room and down the hall. By the time Bruce follows him outside, Jason is nowhere to be seen.

“Dammit,” Bruce mutters. “ _Dammit._ ” He closes his eyes, trying to calm the erratic emotions swirling within him. He has to find Jason.

He has to fix this.

/

“Bruce is looking everywhere for you.”

Jason lifts his head at the unexpected voice.

Leaning against a nearby tree, with his arms crossed and his head cocked to the side, is Dick. He watches Jason with a concerned look on his face, but thankfully there’s none of the sympathy Jason hates seeing from him.

Jason frowns and turns away from Dick, resting his chin on top of his knees, which are pulled up against his chest. He’s sitting on one of the stone benches in the Wayne Manor greenhouse, hidden amongst the dense brush that surround the marble fountain. Annoyed at having been discovered, Jason fixates his gaze on the angel standing in the center of the fountain. “Not much of a detective if he can’t find me; I didn’t really go out of my way to find a difficult hiding spot.”

Dick chuckles. “True.” He lifts his eyes to the angel statue. “Though this always seemed to be more of a place for Robins than the Batman. Maybe it’s the glass walls – too much light for the grump.”

That does bring a small smirk to Jason’s mouth.

Walking over to Jason, Dick slides onto the bench next to him. Jason doesn’t move to get up, though he does lower his legs to the ground.

“Jason, we all know that Bruce sucks at human communication, so I’m sure whatever he said was not meant to be interpreted as it was.”

“I don’t know,” Jason says sullenly. “It seems pretty clear to me that he wants me out of Wayne Manor, and Gotham.”

Dick rolls his eyes. “He doesn’t _want_ you to leave at all, dumbass. If you had bothered to use that brain I know you have, you would have seen how upset Bruce was to even talk to you about this in the first place. He spent _well_ over an hour discussing this entire thing with Alfred and me last night. He wasn’t happy with the decision in the least, but he truly believes it’s what’s best for you.”

“How?”

“Jason, Gotham is not always an exactly…uplifting city,” Dick says. “It’s darkness, it’s… _gravity_ is something that continues to push on the people living within it, and…sometimes it’s best to take a breather from it. Even if it’s only for a little while.”

“You mean just give up?”

Dick frowns. “No.” He gives a sigh. “Look, when I stopped being Robin, I knew I couldn’t stay here. At Wayne Manor, or even in Gotham. This place wasn’t for me. I was tied here as Robin because Batman and I were a team. But once I was on my own, I needed to find myself. I needed to have space and the freedom to shake off Gotham’s shadow and become something more, something better. Moving to Blüdhaven was the best thing I could have ever done; it helped me figure out where I stood in life, in ways I doubt Gotham ever could have.”

Placing a hand on Jason’s shoulder, Dick gives Jason a serious look. “Jason, you’re my brother, and I care about your well-being just as much as Bruce does. I truly think that getting away from this city is the best decision you could make at this point. It doesn’t have to be a permanent change – your room here at Wayne Manor will always be open to you. But I think it would help to just get a…new perspective on things. Besides,” he smiles. “You’ll get to live with me. I’ll admit that my cooking doesn’t exactly live up to Alfred’s, but that’s what take-out is for.”

“Your cooking is shit,” snorts Jason. Glancing up at the angel, Jason watches as the water trickles from her hand into the fountain below. “There’s crime in Blüdhaven too, you know. Like…a _lot_.”

“Trust me, I’m aware,” Dick smirks. Then he sobers. “There’s going to be crime anywhere you go, Jay. But the main goal here is to get out of _Gotham_ , where…a lot has happened to you. Blüdhaven may not be the ideal alternative, but, I’d really like it if you stayed with me over anywhere else.”

Jason is quiet for a long minute. “But, what about the Gotham Knight? That’s important to me, Dick, you know it is.”

Dick looks a bit uncertain at that. “Bruce thinks that it’s best if you give it a break too. Just for a bit. _But_ , if you keep up your psychotherapy sessions with Dr. Leslie, when you’re ready I’d be thrilled to have you work with me. We’ll kick all kinds of ass together.”

“Gotham Knight doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue as easily when it’s being said in Blüdhaven,” Jason mutters bitterly.

A grimace crosses Dick’s face. “You don’t have to keep the name. But –”

“And what if I just decide to go off on my own?” interrupts Jason. “What if I decide that I’ve had enough of your guys’ bullshit, and I go somewhere where you all can’t breathe down my neck, treating me like a child?”

Clearly bothered by the statement, Dick briefly looks away. “We don’t want to force you to do anything, Jason. This is all just an idea we’d like you to consider. No one is kicking you out of Wayne Manor. Honestly, I think if Bruce had his way, he’d keep you here for the rest of your life. He’s kind of clingy that way.”

Jason rolls his eyes, looking vaguely amused in spite of himself.

Dick gives Jason’s shoulder a squeeze. “Bruce loves you, you know that, right?”

Jason doesn’t reply, but the emotion in his eyes is enough of an answer. He blinks and sucks in a sharp breath, opening his mouth to speak. But the rustling of bushes behind them cuts him off, and he and Dick twist around to see Bruce walking up one of the more narrow pathways leading to the fountain.

Bruce freezes upon seeing the two, an almost… _guilty_ look encompassing his eyes.

“Dick,” Bruce says quietly. “I need to talk to Jason alone.”

Dick glances at Jason as he stands. “Sure, Bruce. I’ll be back at the Manor.”

Bruce doesn’t move forward as Dick disappears into the gardens. He shuffles his feet, looking more out of place than Jason’s ever seen him before.

“Can I…can I sit down?” he finally asks.

At first, Jason just stares at Bruce. Then he nods, shifting so Bruce will have room. Bruce moves awkwardly as he sits beside Jason, keeping a few inches of space in-between them as he settles onto the bench.

Bruce rubs a hand across his mouth, the apprehension on his face uncharacteristically blatant. “Jason…you had asked me a question the day of the children’s home fire. And I did not answer it…well.” He takes in a deep breath. “As you are well aware of, I do not believe it is right of us to take the lives of others, no matter what their crimes have been. Everyone deserves a chance to make something better of themselves, and without that line, _we_ risk losing ourselves to that same madness that has taken hold of many of Gotham’s criminals. Nothing will change my ideology on that matter.”

Jason frowns, but he doesn’t speak.

“ _However_ ,” continues Bruce. “You, Dick, and Tim are more important to me than anything else; I would do _anything_ if it meant keeping you three safe. I will always try to find the way that will result in the least amount of violence to do so, but no matter what, when it comes down to it, I will do _everything_ in my power to keep you from harm.” His gaze falls upon the _J_ on Jason’s cheek, and his voice is suddenly much more uneven when he speaks next. “Jason, I’m sorry I wasn’t able to protect you from the Joker. My failure to do so will haunt me every day for the rest of my life. But I’m…I’m trying to set it right. I’m trying to help you heal, and I’m trying to make up for my mistakes.”

Reaching out, Bruce takes Jason’s hand in both of his; surprisingly, Jason doesn’t try to pull away. “Jason, I _need_ you to understand that. Please, please tell me know that.” Bruce tightens his grip, giving their hands a small shake in his ferventness.

Jason begins to tremble. Slowly, he lifts teary eyes to Bruce’s.

“I know,” whispers Jason. “I know, Bruce.” His voice breaks on Bruce’s name, and tears leak from his eyes.

Feeling tears well in his own eyes, Bruce rises from the bench, pulling Jason up with him and enveloping the boy in an embrace. Bruce tightens his arms, and Jason does the same, burying his face in the comforting warmth of his father’s chest.

“This is not a punishment,” Bruce says softly. “This is not me sending you away; this is me trying to do what is best for you. That’s all I want – for you to have a chance to truly recover. But it’s _your_ choice. If you really want to stay here, we’ll figure _something_ out.”

Jason nods, though tears continue to drip down his cheeks. Drawing his son closer, Bruce rests his chin on top of Jason’s head, keeping the boy cradled against his body. Eventually they pull apart, though they remain facing each other.

“You don’t have to make a decision right away, Jason,” says Bruce. He reaches out, brushing away a lingering tear on Jason’s disfigured cheek. “Okay?”

“K,” murmurs Jason.

Bruce keeps his hand pressed to the side of Jason’s head, watching as the boy drops his gaze to the ground. Jason’s lost expression is utterly heartbreaking to Bruce, but he’s not sure what else to say to ease his son’s mind. He lets out a sad sigh and caresses Jason’s cheek in what he hopes is a comforting gesture, trying to ignore the feeling of the scar tissue beneath his thumb. Then he drops his hand and gives Jason’s shoulder a gentle pat.

“Alfred’s been stress-cooking all morning for you. He’s got a massive brunch waiting, so if you’re hungry…”

Jason’s mouth curves upwards. “Starved,” he admits.

Bruce returns the smile and wraps an arm around Jason’s shoulders. “Well let’s go then, before Dick and Tim eat it all. If they do, you, Alfred, and I can go get donuts.”

“We won’t share with Dick and Tim, of course.”

Bruce chuckles. “Naturally.”


	22. Chapter 22

For the rest of the day, Jason is rather quiet. Not from sorrow or anger – it’s obvious to everyone that he’s deep in thought. Playing over his options in his mind, weighing the benefits and consequences of what living in either Gotham or Blüdhaven would bring him. He spends a good hour or so walking around the Manor grounds that late afternoon, and ends up in the greenhouse once again before Dick brings him back inside for dinner.

Later that night, Jason and Dick are sprawled across the furniture in the living room. Both are occupied by separate reading materials, and the only sound that fills the space is the distant ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. Eventually though, Jason finally breaks the silence.

“You’d have to move to a new apartment.”

Dick looks up from the tablet he had been reading the news on. “Huh?”

Jason rolls his eyes, setting his book on his lap. “I’m not going to sleep on your couch for months, so you’d have to move to a two-bedroom apartment.”

The grin that spreads across Dick’s face is almost blinding. “Obviously,” Dick says.

“And it has to have a decent sized kitchen. The one you have now is pathetic, and if I’m going to cook (which I will because you shouldn’t be allowed near a stove), I need something that at least somewhat resembles one.”

“I’m already making a mental list of meals I want you to make. Maybe Barbara will actually stay for dinner now.”

“Why she even bothered to come over before is beyond me,” says Jason, smirking.

“Oh shut up,” laughs Dick. He sets the tablet on the end table next to the couch he’s lounging on. “So you’re serious then? You’ll move to Blüdhaven?”

“Yeah, sure,” shrugs Jason. “It could be fun…I guess.”

If Dick wasn’t so thrilled, he might be annoyed at the apathetic display Jason is putting on, when it’s so obvious that Jason has put a lot of thought into this decision. “Come on, you’re just as excited as I am about it,” teases Dick, throwing a decorative pillow at Jason.

Jason grins, blocking the pillow. “Whatever.” He straightens in the armchair he had been sitting in, looking about him. “Is Tim still in his room?”

“Yeah, I think he’s still working on his paper. Said he couldn’t concentrate when we were watching TV earlier.”

Jason presses his lips together with unease. “I probably should go tell him.”

Dick glances in the direction of the hallway. “Probably.” He turns back to Jason. “He’ll be fine. I talked to him while you were walking all over the Manor grounds earlier, so he’s aware of the whole situation.”

“Is nothing in this family private?” Jason mutters, pushing himself to his feet.

“ _Right_ ,” Dick says sarcastically. “Like Tim wouldn’t have figured out what was going on without me telling him.”

Jason throws Dick a glare. “I’ll be back.” He tosses his book to Dick, who catches it and sets it down beside him.

“I’ll look for some kitchenware in the meantime,” Dick says cheerfully, pulling up a new internet tab on his tablet. “Maybe a ‘Home Sweet Home’ oven mitt set or something.”

“Dick, I swear, I will punch you in the face.”

Dick snorts. “You can try.”

Shaking his head, Jason goes into the hallway, heading for the elevator that takes him to the floor his and Tim’s bedrooms are on. The apprehension pooling within him as he goes to Tim’s room is hard to push down, though he manages to keep his face neutral of any emotion as he knocks on the already cracked door.

“Yeah, come in.”

Pushing the door open, Jason smirks in amusement at the familiar sight of Tim being surrounded by mounds of books and papers on his bed.

“How’s it going?” he asks, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe.

Tim shrugs, squinting at something on his laptop screen. “Fine. Though it’d go faster if I didn’t have this stupid cast over my wrist. It’s hell to type with.” He lifts his gaze. “What’s up?”

Trying to appear nonchalant, Jason makes his way into the room. He pulls Tim’s computer chair over to the side of the bed and sits in it.

“Well, it’s about…” Jason pauses, trying to figure out the right words. “You see…I…Dick and I…” Embarrassed at his fumbling, he lets out a half-laugh, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “I –”

“You’re moving in with Dick,” Tim finishes. His voice is almost deadpan in its delivery of the statement, though Jason is able to detect the layer of dejection hidden there.

A grimace slips onto Jason’s face. “Yeah,” he says softly.

“No, that’s…that’s good,” says Tim, glancing back down at his laptop. “We all have to get out of this dreary Manor sometime, right?”

“Tim…”

Too caught up in his rambling, Tim doesn’t acknowledge Jason. “Besides, _I_ get to have Alfred all to myself now, so that’s like…double the desserts. I’ll have to teach him how to play all the good video games though, because two-player is always more fun, and…”

“Tim.”

Tim falls quiet, and his good hand hovers over the laptop’s keyboard, fingers rubbing together in a way Jason has seen Tim often do when in thought, or conflicted. Jason’s eyebrows draw together in concern, and he edges the chair closer.

“Tim, Blüdhaven is super close – not even an hour away. I’ll still see you a lot, even if my classes do end up taking up a lot of time.”

“Classes?”

Jason rubs a hands over his arm. “Yeah. Nothing is for sure yet, but I’m… _considering_ doing online school. Then I don’t have to deal with idiots in classrooms while I get that GED Alfred and Bruce won’t stop pestering me about.”

A genuine smile crosses Tim’s face. “They’ll be a breeze, trust me. Intelligence-wise, you’re way past the requirements needed for a GED anyway.”

“I know,” Jason says smugly.

Tim rolls his eyes. “So…” The discomfort creeps back into his expression. “When are you leaving?”

“I don’t know yet. Not for a week at least, I’m assuming.”

“Oh.” Tim nods. Then he shifts, trying to look less awkward. “No, this is great, Jay.”

Jason cocks an eyebrow.

“I’m _serious_ ,” insists Tim. “Trust me, I probably would’ve pissed at you if you _didn’t_ go. This is something I really think you should do.” He frowns. “I just wish _I_ wasn’t tied down to Gotham.”

“Gotham’s gotta have at least one sane vigilante keeping them safe,” Jason says. “If you left, Batman would probably go off the deep end. He’s a sensitive soul, that one.”

Tim snorts. “ _Sensitive_. I’ll be sure to keep that description in mind next time he’s pummeling the snot out of a drug dealer.”

A laugh bursts from Jason’s lips; Tim tries to smile too, but doesn’t quite manage it. Sobering, Jason leans forward. “Tim, I know this sucks, and I wish you could come too. But I promise, we’ll still see a lot of each other. Honestly, you’ll probably be sick of me by the end of the month.”

“I already am sick of you,” Tim says, a small grin pricking at the edges of his mouth.

Jason chucks a crumpled up ball of paper at Tim. “Shut up, dork.”

There’s a sudden knock at the door, and Tim and Jason turn to see Dick poke his head into the room.

“You guys done with your little ‘talk’ yet?” Dick asks. “Cause I’ve got an idea that I think you’ll both want to hear.”

“This’ll be good,” mutters Jason.

Dick glares at Jason, but he quickly turns to all smiles as he leans against Tim’s desk. “How about a road trip?”

“Huh?” Jason says.

“A road trip,” Dick repeats. “All three of us.”

Jason and Tim glance at each other.

“I can’t go on patrol for two weeks,” continues Dick. “And Tim can’t for six. So what else are we supposed to do? Besides, why bother going straight to my place when we can bum around the coast for a week or two instead? We’ll drop Tim off when Jason and I head to Blüdhaven at the end of it.”

“I have school…” Tim begins tentatively, his interest in the idea obvious despite his hesitation.

Dick snorts. “First off, it’s for summer classes that you only wanted to take so you could graduate sooner; not exactly the end of the world if you miss them. And second, I’m sure you can make up all of the work in three days or less.”

“True, but…”

“We’ll head south – hit all the historical sites I know you two have been dying to see,” Dick says.

That does make a spark of interest light up in both Jason and Tim’s eyes.

“I mean…” The uncertain curve of Jason’s mouth quickly turns into a grin. “Sure. Yeah, let’s do it.” He glances at Tim. “You’re coming. Sorry, you don’t have a choice in the matter.”

Tim raises an eyebrow at Jason, but he looks excited nonetheless.

“Perfect,” Dick says. “We can leave Friday, so you’ve got a few days to pack your stuff, Jay.”

Tim snickers. “Good luck getting all those books moved to Blüdhaven. You’re gonna have to pick and choose the ones you want the most over there, Jay.”

“Shit, you’re right,” Jason muses, resting his chin in his hand. “Dammit.”

“Well, start tomorrow,” says Dick. “It’s pretty late; we should all go to bed.”

Jason waves at Dick in exasperation. “Yeah, yeah.”

Dick rolls his eyes. “Night,” he says, heading towards the door.

“Night.”

/

The next morning, Dick offers to drive Tim to a friend’s house to work on a school project while Alfred runs some errands. Jason denies the offer to come along, and instead takes a different car downtown to Gotham General Hospital.

The hall of the hospital’s children’s wing is fairly crowded as Jason moves down it. He keeps off to the side as much as possible, trying not to draw attention to himself as he maneuvers through the throng of nurses, patients, and visitors cluttering the space.

There. Jason heads for the door on his right, labeled 22A, and pushes it open gently, trying to look more confident than he feels as he enters.

There are six beds in the room. Five of them are currently occupied, all by kids looking no older than ten years old. A few are sleeping, but the ones who are awake turn their heads towards the doorway upon hearing Jason’s entrance, their faces lighting up in curiosity at the newcomer’s presence.

But there’s only one face in particular that Jason is paying attention to. A relieved smile spreads across Jason’s mouth as he walks over to the first bed on the left side of the room, in which is lying a small girl with golden brown hair.

“Hi Emily,” Jason says, carefully sitting on the edge of her bed.

Emily’s eyes widen in surprise, and the edges of her lips tilt upwards in a rather shy manner as she looks up at Jason. “Hi.”

Jason’s gaze travels over the bandages enwrapping Emily’s right arm, where they disappear beneath the hospital gown he’s sure is hiding more bandages. He winces as memories of the children’s home fire flash through his mind. “How are you doing? Are you feeling okay?”

Biting her lip, Emily shrugs. “Yeah,” she mutters. “The band aides they put on my arm itch a little though.”

Jason gives a soft laugh. “Yeah, I know. Trust me, I’ve had my fair share of bandages. Don’t worry, the itching will go away.”

Emily nods, absentmindedly giving her bandages a light scratch.

Jason runs a hand through his hair in an almost nervous gesture, then twists around to grab a gift bag he had set on the floor. “I got something for you,” he says, placing the bag in her lap. “I know it can get a little boring sitting in a hospital, so I thought…” The words trail off as Jason watches Emily hesitantly reach into the bag, ruffling through the tissue paper.

Frowning in concentration as she digs around, Emily’s expression soon turns into one of surprised delight as she pulls out a stuffed rabbit.

“Wow…” she whispers, trailing her hand over the soft fur.

Jason can’t help but grin as he nods at the bag. “There’s more.”

Holding the rabbit tightly against her chest, Emily thrusts her hand back into the paper, and a gasp of excitement bursts from her lips as she pulls out a pristine copy of _The Velveteen Rabbit._

“ _Thank you_ ,” she says, flipping open the cover with the utmost care. Jason has never heard a more sincere thank you before, and it makes him beam all the more as he watches Emily lovingly trace her fingers over the beautiful illustrations of the book.

“Could you…” Emily pauses, looking up at Jason. “Could you read it to me?”

“I’d love to.” Shifting so that they’re sitting side by side on the bed, Jason takes the book from Emily’s hands and holds it up so that not only she can see the pictures, but so can the other curious children watching them from the various corners of the room.

“ _There once was a velveteen rabbit, and in the beginning he was really splendid…_ ”

As Jason reads, Emily gradually scoots closer to him, and by the end of it she’s fully pressed up against his side, half-asleep with a drowsy look of contentment on her face. Setting the book on the bed’s side table, Jason carefully lays Emily against the pillows behind her and moves towards the edge of the mattress.

“Are you leaving?” Emily mumbles.

Jason stands. “Yeah,” he says softly. Bending over, he brushes back a lock of the girl’s hair. “I’m gonna let you sleep. But I promise, I’ll come back and visit you later this week.”

“What about after that?”

Jason gives a small laugh. “Well, I’m going on a trip with my brothers next week, but I will definitely come back as soon as I’m able.”

“K.”

After tucking the sheets closely around the small girl, Jason turns and heads back to the room’s doorway, where he sees a woman dressed in medical scrubs watching him.

“Hi,” Jason says, a little more awkwardly than he would have liked.

“Hello,” replies the woman. She gestures behind her. “Could I talk to you out in the hallway?”

“Uh…” Jason glances back at Emily bed, where the girl has curled up beneath her blanket, holding the rabbit snugly against her chest. “Sure. Yeah.”

The two go outside, and the woman pulls the door shut behind her before holding her hand out to Jason. “I’m Dr. Linda Page, Emily Weinstein’s doctor.”

“Jason Todd,” Jason replies, shaking her hand.

“You’re one of Bruce Wayne’s boys.”

“Yes,” says Jason.

Dr. Page nods. “I was surprised to see Emily get a visitor; she hasn’t had one the entire time she’s been here. Not that that is unusual for children from foster homes, unfortunately.”

“I haven’t known her for very long,” admits Jason. “I was with her the day of the fire and…well, she’s just a really good kid, and I wanted to make sure she was alright.”

A warm understanding seeps into Dr. Page’s eyes.

“Is she going to be okay?” Jason asks.

“She might have some scarring,” answers Dr. Page sadly. “But yes, she’ll recover.”

“Where’s she gonna go, though? The foster home…it’s going to take some time to rebuild.”

“The children are being sent to different foster homes across Gotham until the Thomas and Martha Wayne Home can be rebuilt,” answers Dr. Page.  “Some might even go to Blüdhaven if there isn’t enough room for them.”

“And Emily?” presses Jason.

An odd look flickers across Dr. Page’s face. “At the moment, she’s being set up to be sent to one of the Gotham foster homes.”

Jason can’t help the disappointment that encompasses his expression.

Dr. Page studies Jason for a moment. “Well, I’m not sure I should be telling you this, but I’ve been spending quite a bit of time with Emily, and I…” Her breath comes out in a sort of shaky laugh. “I’ve been looking into what it might take to adopt her.”

Exhilaration surges up in Jason. “Seriously?”

“Nothing is for sure yet,” Dr. Page says, holding out her hand. “And I haven’t even spoken to Emily about it. But, I am seriously considering it.” A reddish tinge creeps into Dr. Page’s cheeks, and she tugs a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I shouldn’t have said anything, but…you seem to really care about her, and I didn’t want you to worry about her. No matter what, she’ll be taken care of – I promise.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Jason says in relieved sincerity. “Oh –” He twists around slightly, snatching up a paper box he had left on the chair just outside of the children’s room. “Here,” he says, holding it out. “It’s some cookies for the kids – all of them, not just Emily. If…that’s okay.”

Dr. Page smiles, taking the box. “That’s very sweet of you.”

Jason shrugs. “I just know what it’s like to be in their place.” He backs up a step, then begins heading down the hall. “I’ll be back later this week.”

“We’ll look forward to it,” Dr. Page says.

A small grin pricks at the edges of Jason’s mouth as he lifts his hand in a sort of half-wave. Then he turns, and heads out of the children’s wing.

As Jason drives back to Wayne Manor, his happiness from visiting Emily gradually drains away into a deep solemnness. Saying that he’s going on a trip to someone _other_ than Dick or Tim seemed to finalize his decision in a way that hadn’t been all that concrete before. What had felt more like a simple idea before now seems like a permanent course he’s taken. He doesn’t regret it exactly, but currently thinking about it in the fresh alertness of the bright morning…it certainly seems to carry a lot more weight than when he had joked about it with Dick and Tim last night.

He’s really doing it. He’s going to move out of Wayne Manor.

He’s not sure why he’s so struck by the apparent finality of the fact. After all, he is eighteen, and this is the normal age for many kids to go off on their own. However, something about this seems different than a teenager simply going off to college. He just can’t quite place what it is.

By the time Jason gets back to Wayne Manor, Bruce has already left for a meeting at Wayne Enterprises. Dick, Tim, and Alfred aren’t back yet, giving Jason free rein of the place. He knows he should be packing, but instead he finds himself walking throughout the Manor, suddenly overcome with a deep desire for reminiscing as the thought of his decision looms over his head.

Nostalgia creeps up in him as he moves from room to room. He spends an especially long time in the library, running his fingers along the weathered spines and taking in the comforting scent of the antique books he, Bruce, and Alfred had spent years collecting during his time as Robin. He passes through the other rooms slowly, taking in their grandeur. He supposes he may have initially been impressed by their richness when Bruce had first brought him to the Manor, but now, it seems like a silly extravagance. Though in truth, all of that pales in comparison to what this place has truly meant for him.

Opportunity. Sanctuary. Home.

What will it be for him after this week? Nothing more than a memory? A symbol of times past that he can no longer relive?

He’ll never be the same boy he was before Joker took him. Joker hadn’t managed to destroy him, not completely. But significant damage had been done – to Jason, and to his relationships with the people he held dearest. Sure, healing had taken place, bonds were re-strung and new ones made, but that same feeling he had had as a boy in that red and green outfit, standing beside Batman…that was something no longer reachable. At least, not the same way it might have been before all of this.

And perhaps that is for the best. He is his own person now, and he sees the world through clearer eyes – even if there are rare moments he may long for that childish innocence once again. He realizes that he and Bruce will never see eye to eye on certain matters, and though he’s come to accept that, the thought still brings some sorrow to him.

As he heads back to his bedroom, he sees that Tim had left the door to his room open, again. Unlike Jason, who always keeps his door shut tight, Tim rarely remembers, or cares, to do so. Jason pauses, staring at the open doorway; usually, he doesn’t go into Tim’s room without permission, but right now he can’t help but feel drawn to it.

He pushes the door in further, and is greeted by bright sunlight streaming in through the room’s large window. The place is still a mess, littered with Tim’s reading materials. Jason picks his way through the disaster carefully, tiptoeing about as he glances around the room.

A framed picture of Tim with his parents sits on the desk. Beside it is a photo of Tim with Jason and Dick on a weekend camping trip they had gone on a little over a month ago. His gaze roams over the pictures as Jason runs his hand along the edge of the desk, studying the various objects scattered across its surface. Pushed towards the back of the desk is a silver Newton’s Cradle. Reaching out, Jason pulls back one of the spheres and releases it. It swings downwards, striking the other spheres with a faint clink, and setting off the continuous reaction of the balls flying out before coming back in to hit the others.

At the edge of the desk lies a familiar red notebook – the one Tim and his dad had written vocabulary words in together. Jason picks it up and flips it open, his eyes drifting over the countless definitions written onto the pages. As he reaches the blank pages at the back of the book he pauses, staring at them thoughtfully. Then he plucks a pen from Tim’s pencil holder and bends down, writing carefully and neatly at the top of a new page.

_Desiderium – an ardent desire or longing; a feeling of grief for something lost._

Jason lowers the pen, reading over the definition.

He knows he’s welcome back to the Manor at any time. And he knows he’s loved by Bruce, Tim, and Alfred. This decision to leave with Dick is for the best – he sees that now. But he cannot help that twinge of sadness lurking at the edges of his mind as he realizes this is his last week living at Wayne Manor. By moving out, he feels as though he is only cutting away more ties to who he had been before Joker had taken him.

Alfred would probably reproach Jason for thinking of this opportunity with such a grim outlook. But Jason is sure this hesitancy will lesson as Friday draws near, so he won’t allow himself to dwell on it too much. Shaking his head, Jason puts the pen back and closes the book. He straightens and takes one last look around Tim’s room, then heads back to his own bedroom to start packing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re nearing the end of the story, my lovely readers! Sorry about the wait time for this chapter. I’m on a road trip, so it’s been hard to find time to write. The next chapter probably won’t be up for a few more days. But I’ll try to get it up asap!
> 
> Also: extra brownie points to those who know who Linda Page is… ;)


	23. Chapter 23

Over the next few days, Jason packs up everything he thinks he’ll need in Blüdhaven. Dick looks into two-bedroom apartments, and Tim helps Jason decide what books he should bring along, since he’ll have to leave most of them at Wayne Manor due to the lack of space at Dick’s apartment. And as Jason had suspected, as the end of the week approaches, his apprehension at the idea of leaving gradually eases. This is largely due to Dick’s excitement, and the support of Jason’s decision by Tim, Bruce, and Alfred.

When Jason visits the hospital again on Thursday, Dick and Tim tag along, bringing treats made by Alfred, as well as more books. The three of them spend all afternoon reading to the kids in the hospital, making sure to visit every child there, and not just the victims of the children’s home fire. By the time they get back to the Manor, Bruce is nowhere to be seen, having already left for patrol. Jason’s desire to follow Bruce into the city as the Gotham Knight is painfully obvious, but Dick and Tim manage to keep him busy far into the night. They eventually all fall asleep in the Batcave, surrounded by piles of GCPD casefiles.

Jason wakes up hours later to find a blanket had been draped over his shoulders. He glances over at the sleeping forms of Dick and Tim, who also are covered in blankets. Groaning, he stretches his stiff limbs and stands, making his way upstairs to the kitchen, where he heats some tea. Leaving the kettle on the stove, he takes his steaming mug over to the kitchen’s breakfast bar and sits on one of the barstools, resting his arms on the counter and staring into the shadows cast by the oven light he had turned on.

He’s there for some time before a voice jolts him out of his thoughts.

“Jason?”

Jason twists around, his eyebrows raising slightly as he stares at the figure standing in the doorway. “Hey, Bruce.”

“It’s past three, Jason. What are you doing awake?”

Jason shrugs, slowly rotating the mug between his hands. “Couldn’t sleep.”

A grimace slides onto Bruce’s face. “Nightmare?”

Jason shakes his head. “No. Just thinking.”

Bruce glances at the stovetop, on which sits the tea kettle; walking over, he takes a mug from the overhead cupboard and fills it with the hot drink. Jason watches as Bruce moves across the kitchen to his side, then pulls out the stool next to him and sits down.

“About what?” asks Bruce.

Jason stares into his mug, watching the tea swirl as he steadies it with his hands. “Moving to Blüdhaven. Online school. The Gotham Knight.”

“That’s a lot to be thinking about at three in the morning.”

Jason gives a soft laugh. “Yeah.”

Bruce presses his lips together. “Are you…” He pauses, unsure how to ask.

“Having regrets? Hesitations?” supplies Jason. He taps a finger against the side of his mug. “No. I suppose not. I just…” He lets out a sigh. “I don’t know. I’m not really sure what there is to talk about. I’m just going over everything in my mind, you know?”

Bruce nods. “It’s a big change.”

“I guess.”

They’re quiet for a minute. Besides the creak of the barstool as Jason shifts on it, and the soft ticking of a wall clock, there isn’t much noise to fill the silence.

“I’d like to give some of my money to the rebuilding of the children’s home,” Jason finally says.

Bruce looks over at Jason, his brow creasing. “Jason, I’ve made sure that the project has more than enough funding behind it.”

“I know. I just…I’d like to be involved in it somehow.”

A warmth seeps into Bruce’s eyes. “And I admire that. But I’m not sure that giving money to a project that no longer needs financing is the most effective way to do it.”

Jason nods, a tinge of disappointment in his expression. Deep in thought, he doesn’t say anything for a moment. “Well, can I be in charge of restocking the library, instead?”

Bruce blinks at Jason, surprised by the request. When Bruce doesn’t reply right away, Jason bites his lip in uncertainty. “I mean…if no one else is doing it yet. I could, you know, help pick out the books that go into it…or maybe I could talk to the kids who’ll live there once it’s done and ask them what kind of books they want.” Bruce smiles, giving Jason the courage to continue. “And maybe a big globe, with a stand that holds it at the children’s height, so they can use it. The plastic one hanging from the ceiling before was kind of pathetic, honestly. Oh, and some computers – plenty of the kids are old enough to use them, and there are some typing programs that could be installed to help them learn how to properly type, and –” He stops, his cheeks bright with a red flush. “Sorry. I guess I’m getting a little ahead of myself.”

Bruce chuckles. “Nothing to apologize for. I’m thrilled to see you so passionate about this.” He pulls his tea mug closer to him. “I think that’s a fantastic idea. A lot of that work can be done from Blüdhaven, and you’re close enough to come when needed. Why don’t you call Melonie Stevens? She’s the woman you worked with when you went to the home before; she’ll be able to get you started on all of this.”

A rather excited grin stretches across Jason’s face. “Okay.”

Reaching out, Bruce lays a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “Now, why don’t you go to bed? You shouldn’t be up so late.”

“That’s hilarious coming from you,” mutters Jason. But nevertheless, he stands, taking his mug with him as he heads through the kitchen door and into the hallway.

Bruce stays behind for a few minutes more, taking his time to finish his tea before finally leaving the mug in the sink and heading to his own room. The curtains over the window behind his bed have been partially pulled back, allowing moonlight to spill over the carefully folded sheets and neatly arranged pillows. As Bruce approaches the bed, his eyes narrow at a note placed on the center of the mattress; picking it up, he holds it in the stream of moonlight to read the words there.

_Bruce –_

_We’ve found all the cameras you had installed in our rooms, and while you were out on patrol we took the liberty of transferring all six of them into your bedroom. We suppose you could try locating them, but we advise against it, as it is for your own protection. Don’t worry, we promise to use them only when necessary._

_Alfred’s got our back on this, so don’t bother trying to get him to help you._

_See you at breakfast (Jason’s making French toast, so don’t even think about sleeping in)._

_Dick, Jason, & Tim_

Bruce stares at the note for a long minute, not sure whether to be amused or annoyed. Finally, he just lets the paper flutter to the floor, and then he collapses onto the bed with a low grunt, falling asleep almost instantly and not moving until Tim gets him up for the promised breakfast a few hours later.

/

“Everything in there?”

Dick slams down the lid of his car’s trunk and grins at Bruce. “Yup. Good thing you’re sending Jason’s stuff to the apartment ahead of us, otherwise I don’t think there’d be room for Tim in the backseat.”

“Yes,” comments Tim sarcastically. “I appreciate the thoughtfulness.”

“Anything to make you happy, Timmy,” Jason teases, elbowing Tim in the side as he comes up from behind him.

Tim shoots a glare at Jason, trying to look annoyed despite to the amused glint in his eyes.

“Here are some snacks for the trip,” says Alfred, holding out a bulging food bag that Tim gratefully takes. “Now I suggest you three head out sooner rather than later, or I fear you won’t get very far today.”

“Yes, yes, Alfred,” Dick says cheerfully. “We’re going.” He gestures to Tim with a wave of his hand. “Tim, bring the food bag over to the car.” Adjusting his grip on the bag, Tim follows Dick, leaving Jason standing by Alfred and Bruce.

Rubbing a hand across the back of his neck, Jason turns to the two older men. “K…well, guess I’ll be going.”

Alfred gives a warm smile. “We’ll see you soon, Master Jason. And I’ll be sure to make pot roast when you come home next.”

Jason grins. Leave it to Alfred to remember one of his favorite dishes, even if he hasn’t asked for it in months. “Sounds good.” He hesitates, then steps forward and pulls Alfred into a fierce embrace. Alfred is stiff with surprise for the tiniest moment, but then he’s wraps his arms around the boy.

“Thanks for everything, Alfred,” Jason says.

“Anything for you, my dear boy,” replies Alfred. He pulls back, then glances over at Dick and Tim, who are both leaning into the back of the car.

“No, no the cooler needs to be here. Move the food bag over there, Tim!”

“I can’t with your fat arm in the way!”

The corners of Alfred’s mouth perk up ever so slightly. “I believe I’m needed by your brothers. If you’ll excuse me…”

Jason steps aside, allowing Alfred to walk over to the car to help Dick and Tim with their less-than-stellar packing job. Tapping a fist against his thigh, Jason looks back over at Bruce. The older man watches him quietly, a mournful sadness mixed with proud joy settling deep into his eyes. Unsure what to say, Jason averts his gaze. Bruce swallows, then steps forward and takes Jason into his arms, pulling the boy against his chest. Jason immediately circles his arms around Bruce, burying his face in the folds of Bruce’s shirt and breathing in the comforting scent of his father.

“I’m so proud of you, Jason.”

Jason smiles against Bruce’s chest, tears pricking his eyes. “Thanks, dad,” he whispers.

Bruce freezes. Then he tightens his arms around Jason, and presses a loving kiss to the top of his son’s head. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Course,” Jason says, pulling away. A smirk spreads across his face. “Can’t keep me away forever.”

A chuckle escapes Bruce.

“Jason!” shouts Tim. “Hurry up!” He’s leaning out of the back window of the car, having finally gotten everything arranged inside. Dick sits in the driver’s seat, resting his arm on the steering wheel as he watches Bruce and Jason. Standing beside the car is Alfred, who is shaking his head at the two boys.

Looking happier than Bruce has seen him in a long time, Jason sprints over to the car and slides into the front passenger seat. Alfred shuts the door behind him and Bruce walks forward, joining the butler on the edge of the sidewalk. Turning the car on, Dick twists around to throw a quick wave at Bruce and Alfred. They wave back, and then watch as the car roars down the long driveway, sending up dust into the morning sunlight as it goes through the open Wayne Manor gates, disappearing into the distance.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’ve reached the end, my dear readers. Thank you so much for all your wonderful comments; they were all very appreciated, and kept my drive for this story going. :)
> 
> I will not be writing a third story; for now, it will be just If He Had Come and Desiderium (though I might write a one-shot from this universe here and there).
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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